


The Black Rose

by TheWeatherman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 1950s, 1960s, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Dark Magic, Demons, Devil worship, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, M/M, Occult, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, Teacher-Student Relationship, hermeticism, set in England
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeatherman/pseuds/TheWeatherman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1957, Hannibal takes Will under his wing to practise black magic, but finds out that he's hiding a terrible secret and swears to help him.</p><p>6 years later, Hannibal returns as a teacher and finds that Will has blossomed. The only problem is that they'll be dead in a few months if they can't find a way to cure themselves of the Curse of the Black Rose. Thankfully, Will and his friends have come up with a solution: to summon the Devil and make a bargain for their lives.</p><p>But not all is as it seems...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: 6th of July, 1964

The papers are far too concerned with meaningless celebrity gossip nowadays, Hannibal mused while flicking through his copy of the Daily Telegraph and tutting with boredom. The first page announced the news of Nyasaland declaring independence from the UK, then on the very next page there was some dull story about The Beatles and their silly new film. He could not abide modern rock and roll music, even when he was a teenager, moodily hunching over one of his books whenever Elvis Presley came on the radio and one of the other students in the Common Room turned it up obnoxiously. He’d prefer a bit of Chopin or Liszt any day.

He flicked a little further through, searching for anything that caught his interest and settled on yet another report about the upcoming hanging of Peter Allen and Gwynne Evans following their recent trial. It appeared that the public tide was moving increasingly against capital punishment, as perhaps made evident by the number of pieces in the news recently discussing it. They expected them to appeal and get a reprieve, but Hannibal struggled to see what all of the fuss was about. It was only a rope with the promise of a quick death. He could think of much worse ways to punish wrongdoers.

The thought of it brightened up his day slightly, as he’d struggled to crawl out of his bed that morning. He hated Mondays and was glad that he didn’t have to brace the outside world like the rest of working Britain, but he still despised Mondays. He kept his slippers and dressing gown on to trudge downstairs and open the door only briefly to retrieve the newspaper, along with two pints of milk. With one bottle in each hand and the newspaper tucked firmly under him arm, he didn’t even taken a moment to glance up the street where the glowing pink sunrise still graced the sky. Ducking back inside, he slammed the front door with the heel of his foot and went back into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

He always read his morning paper with a nice, hot mug of tea. It was some brief respite for the beginning of the day before preparing for a long stretch at his typewriter. As much as he enjoyed studying the history of Western esotericism and the effects of the Enlightenment on the occult, he was not too fond of the arduous task of writing up all his various notes into a coherent book. He hadn’t even found an editor yet, but intended to send a copy to either his professor at Oxford, or maybe even Mrs Du Maurier at Warren Place. He and Mrs Du Maurier had always had a close relationship when he was a student and he’d heard that she had recently accepted the place of head mistress. She must therefore hold a certain level of influence in the world of education, given her prime position at such a prestigious school.

Hannibal sipped his tea steadily as he continued to read, thinking nostalgically back on his teenage years. He may have felt miserable and suffocated most of the time, but it had been 6 years since he’d left now and he’d started to romanticise his boyhood years, always misbehaving and sneaking around, usually alone. Once in a while, he’d come across a friend who didn’t bore him too much and would invite the other child to play his little games. They never ended well, though.

Now, he believed he’d matured past the point of childish antics. Not that he didn’t still understand the joy of his former hobbies, he just chose to release his frustration and anger in a much less risky fashion. He fully intended on wreaking havoc until the day he died, but he also planned on that day being in the distant future, well into the 21st Century.

Having finished his paper, Hannibal set it down on the table and put his empty mug in the sink, before wandering back upstairs to have a hot shower. He was grateful to have such a large house and especially one with such an interesting history, even if he did live in one of the duller areas of South London. But he could always get on the railway to Victoria and it wouldn’t even cost him a shilling. With the fortune his parents had left to him following their untimely death, he could definitely afford to live closer to town, but he wanted this house _specifically_ , neighbourhood be damned.

Slipping off his dressing gown and slippers at the door, he studied his face in the mirror while waiting for the hot water to start running through the pipes. He could see his face aging already. His hair was losing his lustre and he was only 24. Thankfully, he didn’t see himself needing to shape it into a mop top anytime soon in order to stay current.

“You grew up far too quickly,” one of his professors, a Mr Crawford if he remembered correctly, used to say to him with a strong degree of sympathy, as if his childhood was something to be pitied and looked upon with distaste. He personally took it as a compliment. He’d never wanted to be like the others. He wanted to move against the tide. Perhaps that was partially where his interest in the occult stemmed from. That and the promise of great power.

Hannibal pulled back the curtain brusquely, imitating a scene from Psycho that he rather liked, which would have been the last film he saw. When was that again? 1961? It couldn’t have been as far back as 1960, could it? Then again, it could have. He remembered going with his fellow History students from Merton college after a lecture. He remembered how one of the boys leapt during that scene in quite an amusing way and had decided that he might just try frightening him like that again later. But he liked Hitchcock. He had ever since he managed to sneak into the cinema to see Rope when he was 8, being young and rebellious after his recent move to England with his aunt. He’d meant to see The Birds last year, but had somehow missed it, getting caught up in writing papers about the depiction of the Underworld in Virgil’s Aeneid and spending too much time translating from the original Latin.

Moving under the stream of water, he reached for his bar of soap and started trying to organise his thoughts for the day ahead. Perhaps he didn’t want to be completely tied to his desk all day, he pondered leisurely while running the foamy soap across his chest. He could always visit the local library before the school children got out, or maybe take a stroll across the Common to clear his head. If he did that, it might shape up to be an all right Monday after all.

Then he glanced down.

He’d noticed what he’d believed to be a freckle a couple of months ago. Then it had grown and he thought it might possibly be a mole. Now, he saw a black splotch on his chest roughly the size of his fingernail. Immediately, he knew that it was not a natural blemish. The tone was too black, as if he could put his finger right inside it and feel his ribcage beneath. Now that he looked closer, he saw how perfectly central it was, creating a symmetrical point right in the middle of his chest, between his nipples. But more so, just looking at it seemed to fill him with a sense of dread, as if he knew this day would finally come.

It appeared that it had.

His past had caught up with him after all these years. He knew then that it was time to return to Warren Place where it all began. He needed to speak to Will Graham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't alive in 1964 so will be relying heavily on Google and my parents for stupid questions like, "Could you do an O level in Art in the 1960s?" or "How much would a book have cost in 1957?" If you're more knowledgeable about the time period and spot a mistake at any point, I would be very gracious if you could correct. In fact, pointing out any kind of anachronisms would be well appreciated.
> 
> For the record, Hannibal does live in a very specific house, one that is very near my own and the reasons why will be mentioned later on in the fic... But as of now, this will be the last we'll see of it as the story picks up back at Warren Place in Kent in September 1964, then will flashback alternately to 1957.


	2. 1st of September, 1964

“Welcome back to Warren Place, where exceeding young minds are fashioned into vessels of knowledge for the world to one-day drink from. Everyone among you is the future of this country: future lawyers and doctors, writers and teachers, politicians and philosophers, as well as mothers and fathers. Though the Summer was joyful and care-free, now it is time to buckle down and set your sights on those horizons.”

Hannibal watched Mrs Bedelia Du Maurier from his position behind her, admiring her clear voice as it boomed throughout the chapel’s long room and high ceilings, watching as the sun pierced through the large crucifix in the stained glass window behind her and painted colourful patterns all over her shapely back.

They hadn’t yet had a chance to talk face-to-face. Getting a job there was exceedingly easy, requiring only a short call in which he reminded her of the old times, chatting back and forth, and she quickly managed to find a teaching position for him, despite being such short notice. Not some poxy assistant’s job either, but teaching A-level History to the future Oxbridge applicants and he was eager to prove his worth. So far they’d only managed to exchange brief knowing glances at each other, one such look having been shared just before all the children started flooding into the hall from their various houses to sit in the pews and cross-legged on the floor to hear the ‘Welcome Back’ speech.

Hannibal had to admit that Bedelia was far more charismatic than he remembered his head teacher the late Mr Vanderbilt being. He recalled how they would all descend drearily into the chapel on their second day back, having barely managed to recover from moving all their stuff into new dormitories the night before. They were then forced to sit with their buttocks against the uncomfortable seats as he droned on for what felt like hours and pulled out psalm after not-so-inspiring psalm. He did not doubt the abilities of women to match those of men, especially as they continued to prove themselves just as worthy with each passing year (and he often wondered how long it might be until a woman much like Bedelia would be running their country with an iron fist and steely determination), but he knew that she would have had to have fought tooth and nail in order to become the head. Without Mr Vanderbilt there to attest to her brilliance, the decision would have been down to board of directors and she must have been puling all the right strings in order to be considered over the more mature and far more orthodox male teachers. She was a spitfire, certainly.

As the children and older students (more alike to young adults than children at their age) had filed in, Hannibal had watched eagle-eyed for those unmistakeable glasses and the unruly brown hair but found himself unable to pinpoint them amidst the crowd. Now, as Bedelia continued her speech, he scanned all of the boys and girls at the back of the room with the cream-coloured lapels, hoping to spot him. But his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. Rather than make himself look foolish by squinting, he returned his attention to Bedelia, who asked the room to stand to sing the school hymn.

There was a discordance of shuffling shoes, murmuring and shifting bodies as the whole room rose to their feet and the organ above his head hummed loudly with the opening keys to He Who Would Valiant Be. He almost felt as if he was back in the pews with the rest of the students, in his smart, indigo-blue blazer and long grey trousers, mouthing along the words without any effort behind them. Now he sang loud and clear. The whole room was watching and slipping into the shadows to misbehave wasn’t so easy as it once had been.

When the song ended, the entire room sat back down in synchronisation, leaving Bedelia to make one succinct Bible quote from Matthew: “What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.” With that, the assembly was over and everyone was immediately being rushed off to their first classes of the day.

Hannibal had only arrived just that morning at the unbearable time of 7am, after a 2-hour-long train journey from London Victoria to Folkestone and then a taxi cab North to just outside Waltham where the 20 acre grounds of Warren Place stretched out, all surrounded by tall, spiked fences and majestic oak trees. It had been years, but it still felt like coming home after a long holiday. His heavy chest and suitcases had been abandoned outside the office he knew to be his own, given that it was in the History department and had his name engraved into a golden plate on the door. He was soon whisked away to the chapel for the first assembly, with little time to get his bearings. It had only been 6 years, but there were so many minute changes in detail that he wanted to stop and investigate only he wasn’t being given the opportunity.

He descended down the steps from the chancel, following Bedelia as the rest of the crowds filed out, chattering loudly despite how many time the teachers called for order and silence. Once they were outside the chapel and caught up in the biting September breeze, she immediately turned round to greet him, albeit fleetingly.

“Mr Lecter, we must catch up,” she said with a hint of a smile as her eyes moved appreciatively over his adult face, her voice rich and entrancing as ever. “I’m afraid I have lots of business to attend to and I know you have a class now, assuming you received the schedule I had mailed to you?”

Hannibal nodded an affirmative before saying, “I’ll be free to talk afterwards, however, if you fancy it?”

“That sounds agreeable.” She looked him up and down once more, taking in his dashing 3-piece suit and neatly slicked-back hair that reflected an imperturbable demeanour of professionalism and maturity. Not that he hadn’t always been pernickety about presenting a well-maintained appearance, but Hannibal knew that he now seemed to radiate a certain air of authority with his good posture and sensible fashion choices that better reflected him than the school uniform with its knee-high socks and royal blue blazers with buckled-up shoes. “I’ll be in my office.”

“I’d be delighted to meet you there,” Hannibal replied, ending their brief dialogue with a charming smile before sauntering back to the classroom where his first class of the term awaited him.

Navigating his way there was not particularly difficult. He remembered every building, every corridor and every classroom that he too used to tread in his formative years. He even remembered having his own final year of History lessons in the same exact classroom on a Tuesday morning such as this one.

Arriving before any of the students, he took the time to carefully hoist up his chest and carry it inside. There was another door at the back of the classroom, behind the desk and to the left of the blackboard, where his own private office lay waiting. For the time being, he moved his stuff into there, not yet having an opportunity to appreciate it other than to see it had a beautiful view of the Lacrosse court and, just beyond that, the lake with all of its sagging willow trees. There was a desk with a typewriter and plenty of bookcases filled with books all bound in leather, many of them appearing to be decades old.

It wasn’t long before Hannibal heard his first students streaming into the classroom and decided to give them a few minutes to relax into the environment before he emerged. Silence descended on the chattering mass when he appeared and he smiled inwardly, enjoying the power he had over them, thinking about the respect they would give him.

“I’ve been informed,” Hannibal began, picking up a piece of chalk and starting to write his name across the board, “that you are the crème de la crème of History students at this school. So I expect nothing short of perfection from all of you.” He whirled round to face them, his eyes deadly serious and cold. “I expect perfect attendance, perfect work, perfect time-management.”

As if to flawlessly undermine his point, the door burst open and a young man with teal-coloured eyes and softly coiffured brown hair entered. Without saying a word, he slid onto the stool closest to the door and dumped his leather satchel on the desk.

Hannibal didn’t bat an eyelash at him, but instead snapped, “You’re late. See me after class.”

A whisper passed through the classroom as they understood the message. He would not accept time wasters or disobedience in his class.

“I will be teaching you English History and European History from 1604 onwards. I would assume that you all passed your O levels with flying colours and I do not expect to have to catch you up on any of the basics. You need to be familiar with the British kings and queens throughout this period, as well as Prime Ministers and the key dates throughout the centuries we’ll be looking at, including important wars. You should have a clear and firm knowledge about the British Empire.” Hannibal pointed suddenly at a girl in the first row with doe eyes and a heavy full fringe that stopped just short of her eyebrows. “Tell me, how old was Queen Victoria when she ascended to the throne?”

“Eighteen,” the girl answered, as quick as a whip. Hannibal was impressed, but refused to show it. Instead, he fired off another question.

“What about King Henry VIII?”

“Seventeen,” she said, once again, without missing a beat. Hannibal turned his back to the room so that he could smile. One more…

“King Edgar?”

“Sixteen.”

Smart girl.

Hannibal whipped round again suddenly and placed both his hand forebodingly on the desk while he peered out at all of the questioning and intuitive faces eagerly anticipating his next word. Though mildly intimidated by his strict demeanour, he could sense that they were all hungry to learn and realised he would enjoy teaching them.

“Do not attempt to complain to me about harsh workloads or too much responsibility being thrust upon you too soon in life when we have had great Kings and Queens who were your age and younger ruling the country. Just do as I say, open up your minds to my words and you will surely find the greatness that awaits you all. Now please turn to page 23.” There was a rustling of papers as the entire classroom obeyed his commands. He could certainly get used to this… “The year is 1603 and Elizabeth I has just died, leading to James IV of Scotland ascending to the throne, uniting all of England, Scotland and Ireland under a single monarch: the first of the Stuarts…”

Hannibal continued with his lesson plan, whisking through the early years of the 17th Century, up until the Civil War in 1642, as he wrote down names and dates on the board and the students furiously scrawled them down.

The bell went at 10am on the dot and Hannibal made sure catch up with the blue-eyed girl in the front row before she managed to pack away all of her things.

“You’re a very bright, young thing,” he said, earning a smile and he saw something twinkle in her eyes. She knew she was smart and she loved hearing it, but she only returned with a courteous thank you.

“What’s your name?”

“Alana Bloom.”

“You’ll be great one day, Alana Bloom,” he assured her and she smiled bashfully. “Now go on, I don’t want you to be late.” She hopped off the chair and he watched her disappear out the door with a flash of her Jane Shrimpton-esque hair, but Hannibal specifically noticed the sympathetic glance that she sent towards the only student still remaining in the room when she passed him at the door.

The boy sat at his desk still, grinning almost mischievously as Hannibal slowly paced up the centre aisle through the rows of desks to come face-to-face with him.

“Perhaps if you were on time, Mr Graham, then you would have heard me say that I would not abide by anything short of perfection,” Hannibal hummed menacingly, coming up to the desk and slamming his palm down against the wood in an act of aggressive intimidation. “Somehow you’re already falling short.” Hannibal was now finding it difficult not to repress his own smile as he came closer to the boy, admiring the way his hair had been tamed and his face had filled out and the glasses had disappeared, leaving him to be an undeniably handsome young man.

“I apologise, Mr Lecter,” Will replied smoothly, “But I heard that an old friend of mine had dropped by and I was trying to find him.”

“You would place some sentimental reunion before my class?” Hannibal tutted, now outright grinning. “That just won’t do. You may just have to return here after the school day for detention.”

“It won’t happen again. I’m not even that interested in seeing him again, anyway. He’s actually incredibly boring.”

“Careful now,” Hannibal warned jokingly. “You wouldn’t want to upset him.”

The atmosphere thickened between them until they couldn’t hold it up any longer and Will leapt off his chair with a boyish laugh to throw his arms around Hannibal. Hannibal was slightly taken aback by the sudden display of affection, but reciprocated nonetheless. When Will pulled back, Hannibal noted rather solemnly that he still wore a pair of gloves at all times, though these appeared to be made of soft kidskin rather than the worn and abrasive leather he remembered.

“I saw you in first assembly,” Will informed him, taking a step back to grab his satchel and sling it over his shoulder. “I waited for you outside the chapel, but you must have gone out through the West entrance, so it’s my mistake.”

“Ah, I was looking out for you, but I must have not recognised you. You certainly have changed.” Hannibal didn’t even realise the vaguely flirtatious undertone that crept into his voice as he eyed up Will’s mature body, now suitably filling out the long legs of his trousers and stocky shoulders of his blazer.

However, if Will sensed it he chose to ignore it, simply laughing, “Well, that tends to happen when you don’t show your face around here for 6 whole years. You couldn’t have written even once?” His chiding was done in a distinctively flippant voice, but Hannibal knew there was some real raw emotion behind it. He had most certainly abandoned Will and had stressed about what his reaction might be upon returning, but there was time to lick old wounds later. Besides, he appeared to have blossomed quite nicely even without Hannibal’s guidance and support, so what harm was done? For now, he had something far more worrisome to address.

“I’m afraid to say that I’m not returning on a particularly joyful note, Will,” he sighed and Will’s eyes darkened as he held up a hand to silence him.

“I know,” he said sombrely and started undoing the buttons on his blazer and throwing it to the ground. Hannibal’s heart seized up, knowing what was coming, yet not quite wanting to believe it as Will loosened his tie and started on his shirt buttons. He undid the top 3, then pulled it back to reveal a single black mark at the centre of his chest, identical to Hannibal’s.

Following suit, Hannibal decided to pull back his own shirt and reveal his own ugly spot. They stood with a distance between them, both breathing shallowly as they drank in the severity of their situation.

“What is it?” Hannibal asked, gulping quietly.

“The Black Rose,” Will whispered, pointing a finger at his own while he stared at Hannibal’s. “It means we only have a few months left, before it finally comes for us…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished my other fic, A Voice In The Dark, if you wanna check it out.
> 
> Now I can focus fully on this one. I'm hoping to do about 2/3 updates a week starting today. Thanks for anyone who commented, bookmarked or left kudos on the first chapter <3


	3. 14th of September, 1957

Hannibal was sure that he’d searched the entire bookcase from top to bottom twice over, but he couldn’t find it anywhere. He’d requested The Blue Equinox over a month ago and the librarian had confidently told him the it had been shipped from a bookstore in Soho and arrived that morning, so it had to be there! Through some miracle, he’d managed to track down and read all of Volumes 1 and 2 of The Equinox, so he absolutely had to read Volume 3.

Deliberating that it just wasn’t there, he took a step back from the bookcase and considered casting a clairvoyance spell right there in front of everybody, but managed to resist and instead decided to inform that imbecile of a librarian that she must have put it in the wrong section, instead of under Religion and Philosophy where it belonged. Tensing up at the idea of it being misplaced in the section of the library for younger students, he marched quickly through the rows of shelves and over to the winding staircase which led down to the librarian’s desk. Slightly winded, he sauntered confidently up to her as she sat obliviously reading one of her nonsense fairy tales and stated, “Aleister Crowley, The Blue Equinox. I was informed that it had been added to the library this morning.”

She blinked up at him from behind tortoise shell glasses, then slowly tilted her face to peer at him from over the rims. “Good afternoon, Mr Lecter,” she drawled in an unamused tone. “Do you have a problem?”

Hannibal hissed back impatiently, “The book, it’s not there. You must have mismarked it and had it put in the incorrect section.”

She blinked at him, making it clear that she was unimpressed by his superior demeanour, but then again she had to deal with snotty rich boys having tantrums in her library every day, so she simply placed a bookmark carefully in place and slid her copy of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader to the side to reveal a large log book. Purposely moving at a snail’s pace, she licked a finger and began leafing through the book before finding the page she was looking for, listing all of the books that were requested and bought in, as well as those that were sold and thrown out. “Blue Equinox, Comma The. Crowley. Comma Aleister,” she read aloud while Hannibal fidgeted and rolled his eyes, thinking about the pain he could cause her to suffer later. “Dewey Decimal number 130.5. Have you checked ‘Religion and Philosophy’?”

“Of course I have,” Hannibal snapped back, but she only shrugged contemptuously.

“Maybe somebody picked it up and didn’t put it back in the right place,” she suggested, but her voice was monotonous and uninvested in his plight. Turning on his heel, Hannibal seethed quietly and moved towards the exit, drafting up a method for a clairvoyance spell that might lead him to it, when he struck gold.

Right before him, he saw it lying plainly on one of the writing desks. Immediately, he rushed over to it and reached out to grab it when his hand was batted away by a smaller, gloved hand. Shocked, he looked down to see two wide and youthful green-blue eyes glaring up at him from behind a wire-rimmed pair of glasses and an unruly mess of chestnut brown curls. “This is mine,” he stated firmly, pulling the book into his arms.

Hannibal was initially outraged, then amused. He couldn’t have been older than a second year, but had a skinny frame and soft face, perhaps slightly withered by some form of early tragedy or bitterness that made his jaw set hard as he maintained eye contact with his senior. Hannibal pulled back and smiled down at him. “Do you mean to say that you bought it?” he asked, deliberately obtuse as he decided to make the poor boy suffer and maybe cry a little before handing it over.

Instead, the young thing only defiantly said, “I found it and I’m taking it out.”

“You barely look old enough to be attending this school, let alone checking out books from the mature  section,” Hannibal replied, gesturing at the large ‘M’ stuck on the side of the book by glancing down at it pointedly, then back up to the boy’s face. But he wouldn’t be deterred.

“I need it for a school project. My professor said I could take it out,” he answered, all of his retorts carefully practised.

“Which subject?” Hannibal interrogated.

“History.”

“Which teacher?”

“Mr Duncan.”

“What’s the project about?”

“Religious divergence at the start of the century.”

“That’s not on the syllabus.”

“It was just added.”

Hannibal paused, stuck for words. Instead he reached out to grab the book using sheer force, but the boy flinched away, more terrified than nervous and Hannibal withdrew his hand yet again. He tried a different approach instead with this fiery young boy. Such obvious lies, but so stringently determined to escape with the book, despite Hannibal’s attempts to intimidate him. Passionately rebellious yet withdrawn, the boy reminded him of himself when he was younger.

“Tell me, have you read the other books in the Equinox series?” The boy shook his head. “Well, I have them all. They’re in my dorm room. How about you finish that book, then bring it to me and tell me what you think about it. Then we can do a little trade. What do you think?”

The boy studied him cautiously, then nodded.

“Okay, deal,” he agreed, holding out a gloved hand and Hannibal took it without trepidation. However, just as the younger boy moved to pull his arm away, Hannibal gripped tightly and made sure he was kept firmly in place.

“But just in case,” he hummed thoughtfully, giving off the pretence of friendliness while crushing his tiny, delicate fingers in his much larger hands, “I want to know your name. I might need to track you down.”

“Will.”

“Will who?” Hannibal demanded, gripping tighter.

“… Will Graham,” he replied, his voice ringing with discomfort. Hannibal’s grip released immediately and Will’s hand shot right back to his side as if he’d been burned.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Will Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter. I see you’re in Elderflower House,” Hannibal remarked, noting the cream-coloured borders on the lapels and cuffs of the boy’s blazer, “so I’ll know where to find you. How old are you?”

“Eleven.” His voice seemed to shrink slightly when he said it, as if suddenly aware of the huge age difference between them and realising that he was in over his head if he managed to upset him.

“A first year?” Hannibal said, but his voice was impressed rather than condescending. “And already showing interest in black magic?”

Will seemed to blush and turn his face away. “It’s for a school project.”

“Of course it is. Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?” Hannibal watched Will’s face intently as he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and just a student following an assignment. But they both knew it was so much more than that. “Be on your way, Will Graham. I wouldn’t want to distract you from such important schoolwork.” Will’s face flooded with relief as he was allowed to step away and started heading for the exit on his scrawny, little legs. “And by the way,” Hannibal called out in a hushed voice, “when you come to find me, I’m a prefect in Acorn House.” Will turned back to look at him and saw Hannibal’s finger tapping the glistening acorn-shaped badge on his blazer, a symbol of authority within his house. Then he was gone.

“What a curious boy,” Hannibal said quietly to himself, suddenly far less interested in the book he’d so desperately wanted merely minutes ago.


	4. 1st of September, 1964

“It’s called the Black Rose,” Will explained as he followed a mildly shaken Hannibal into his office and sat down on the chair facing his desk. Out of his bag, he pulled a heavy-looking book that was ornately decorated with flowing patterns and subtle archaic symbols hidden within them. When he dropped the large tome on the desk, it made a loud clunking sound, heavy with pages and pages of information that must have taken weeks to pore over. He leafed through it studiously until he found a page with a fading illustration of what looked like a splotch of black ink spilled in the centre of a man’s chest, then he turned the book so that Hannibal could properly view it. Hannibal let his fingers tensely hover over the picture, but dared not touch it. Touching it made it real. Nevertheless, he was transfixed by it. “It’s an omen of death, sent by a demon looking for revenge. It typically appears about 6 years after the curse has been cast and continues to grow before it consumes the heart, killing the victim _exactly_ 7 years after the initial spell.”

Hannibal felt a sense of panic rising in him and tried to cool it in the presence of the younger man. Will respected him. Will didn’t want to see him being unnerved when he had clearly managed to gather himself together in order to discuss this.

“So that would give us until… the 21st of January?” Hannibal realised, his throat going slightly dry. Will nodded gravely, both of them feeling the impending nature of that date weighing heavily on their shoulders and pulling at their soon-to-be-crippled hearts. Reluctantly, Hannibal forced himself to continue questioning Will, in spite of the feeling of nausea that was overwhelming him at that moment. But he only had himself to blame — for being such an arrogant youth, for being so full of ignorant hubris. “And was it cast by Shax?”

Shax, the powerful night demon whom they had ripped out of the underworld with a handful of purslane and a black candle that fateful night, as they clasped hands flinchingly and felt the earthly dimensions shifting between them like a torn fabric, leaking out the demons from across the veil. Shax who appeared before them as a magnificent and towering stork before metamorphosing into a handsome young man and numbed them beautifully with his spiritual field. They’d felt the reverberations of power emanating off of his mystical form and through their own bodies. They should have known then that they were dealing with magic beyond their own capabilities.

“That’s my assumption.”

“But didn’t we—” Hannibal hesitantly asked, before Will cut him off hastily as if he was anxious about doing anything other than obscurely alluding to the single most destructive error they had ever made. They danced around it, tried to ignore it, but couldn’t bring themselves to stare the ugly beast in the face, fearing that would give it power.

“Yes, we managed to hold him so that he wouldn’t escape, but he still had some semblance of power. We both saw that,” Will sighed, dragging a gloved hand through his hair in a show of controlled distress. Hannibal shuddered internally at the memory, the repulsive image of the skin melting off his face like hot wax flashing through his mind.

“And is he still…?” Hannibal allowed his words to trail off, also not wanting to relive the mistakes of his past. Will shook his head and Hannibal breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing that their foolish antics weren’t still haunting the school was some slight reprieve.

Full of dread, he returned his attention to the drawing in the book and scanned over the surrounding words in their faded print. With inquisitive fingers, he flicked through a couple of pages and saw further grotesque illustrations. There was a detailed sketch of a blackened and decrepit hand under the heading ‘ _The Wizard’s Claw_ ’, a side effect Hannibal remembered reading about years ago from casting too much magic — a harrowing reminder of the addictions of unrestrained power. On the next page, he saw the etchings of what appeared to be an indistinct sigil on the back of someone’s neck, titled ‘ _The Mark of Possession_ ’, a symbol of those who had foolishly given their bodies over as vessels to demons. Following that was ‘ _Persephone’s Kiss_ ’, a yellowish-grey wart in the shape of an asphodel flower, a blemish that appeared on resurrected corpses.

Hannibal couldn’t deny the sickening intrigue that consumed him as he studied the various drawings and ailments in the book, although he tried to keep his interest in the occult strictly professional, in papers and studies about its history rather than the methods and practises and lore.  But he struggled resisting the familiar pull of the words, drawing him back into the world of black magic.

“Where did you get this?” Hannibal asked, closing the book and tracing his fingers admiringly over the elegant cover. It was rough to the touch, not only from the etchings but also general wear and tear. It seemed a rare find, but certainly not impossible. For all its grandeur, it would likely be taken as a bit of fun by most of those who came across it, not understanding the true power of its words. Nevertheless, it certainly wasn’t the type of book that one could request in the school library.

“There’s an old bookstore in Folkestone, in the basement of a backstreet pub,” Will said, his face briefly displaying a sheepish smile, aware of how seedy the place must have sounded to Hannibal. “I go there at the weekends and it has a load of old books on mysticism.”

“You have the money for them?” Hannibal asked with an honest brutality. They both knew that Will wasn’t as blessed as he had been with a sizeable fortune to sit on, but Hannibal was aware that his words wouldn’t hurt either. He knew him well once upon a time and there were some things he could still presume about him without second thought. Sure enough, Will brushed the comment off easily.

“This was a gift,” Will elaborated, then added in a smaller voice, “from my girlfriend.” Hannibal found it difficult to hide his surprise, looking up at Will with raised eyebrows. Will seemed to know what he was asking based on the look of incredulity alone and said quietly, “She knows.” He then swiftly changed the topic. “There’s more to the Black Rose than simply dying, though. It wouldn’t be that easy.” His last words dripped with a bitter sarcasm.

Hannibal’s stomach turned. What could be worse than death? He could think of a few things, in fact. “Must we endure torture? Physical? Mental?”

“No, it will be a quick death… but we would then be taken to the underworld and forced to join Shax’s legions.” Will’s voice was surprisingly steady for the horror of his words. He must have had some time to come to terms with it before Hannibal arrived, he theorised as a pang of fear reverberated through his chest. Not much was known about the demon realm and the minions who dwelled there as a reserve army for the disputes and conquests of their leaders, but they were aware that it was not a desirable place to be. Though they would never explain why, spirits summoned from the world below would often barter for their escape, just as Shax had done all those years ago and they had refused him. Now he was taking his revenge. Hannibal had to fight back the urge to shout, throw his fists down on the desk and curse the world. He didn’t want to frighten Will.

“Is there anything we can do?” he finally asked in a level tone, his head hanging as he stared intently at the cover of the book in front of him.

“Actually, there is.” Hannibal looked up, admittedly surprised. Will nodded at him, reading his expression. “It took a lot of research, but we came up with something…”

“We?”

“Me and my friends?”

“They’re involved with this? Are they like us?” By that, he meant practisers of magic, though he would be surprised if they were since Hannibal and Will were a rare breed – a fact that they were both painfully aware of.

“No, but they know about it and they’re willing to help.”

“You must be quite the charmer to convince them to get involved.” Hannibal’s words were not as complimentary as they sounded, but rather tinged with doubt and suspicion about what Will had promised in order to convince anyone, friends or not, to take part. Whether Will missed his deeper meaning or simply decided to brush it off, he continued to explain.

“It’s a solid plan, but having your help would make it even more solid.”

“And your plan is?”

“To summon Lucifer,” Will said, his voice practised and sombre. Hannibal chuckled heartily. Then he stopped. Will’s face was totally straight, a strained look of gravity in his eyes.

“You’re not serious,” Hannibal deadpanned. It wasn’t even a question. He wouldn’t even entertain their mad plan. Not for a second.

“I am. And you’re going to help us if you don’t want to spend the rest of eternity in Hell.” Will gave him a hard, stony look and for a second, Hannibal only admired how much he had grown. Far from the physical differences, which were certainly distracting enough, here was a man who was assertive, charismatic and popular. It reeked of demon magic.

Considering Will’s words, Hannibal opened up the book again and began looking through all of the incantations and rituals that he used to be so accustomed to. He scanned through the list of items needed to summon a random demon, tracing down the strange ingredients with the tip of his finger.

 _Blue candles at dusk, allspice and solid iron, dark jay feathers_ … These were all items that conjured up vivid images of his past. He recalled the rush of adrenaline when the magic flowed through him, like a great wave washing over him and drenching him in pure _power_. Not only that, he remembered hunching over the books with Will, only a dim lamp illuminating the Common Room so late in the Winter evenings and they would share whispered secrets and knowledge, pointing out spells in their grimoire and deciding which ones they should try next. He remembered how stupidly happy the two of them had been to have a friend. Not just any friend. Their friendship had been one that seemed to transcend normal human ties and connected them on a deeper, spiritual level. They’d thought their bond was special. Somewhere underneath his own more hard-hearted demeanour, Hannibal still believed it.

“I hope you’re aware that I was true to my word and I haven’t practised in years,” Hannibal said darkly, “but then it seems you may have been practising enough for the both of us.”

Will folded his arms indignantly over his chest and averted his eyes. “I never made any such promises,” he grumbled, “besides, I’ve been careful.”

“We were careful back then,” Hannibal reminded him, but Will slowly shook his head.

“No, it was my mistake. I messed up,” Wil sighed despondently, but then looked back up at Hannibal with a fierce look in his eye that told him he wasn’t going to back down. “But I haven’t since then. I won’t ever again.”

“No one ever intends to make mistakes, Will. But there’s too much to lose when it comes to summoning the Devil himself. The price would be far greater than just our souls.”

“Since when have you cared?” Will snapped at him, reaching out for the large tome in front of Hannibal and slamming it shut, only barely missing his fingers which were whisked out of the way just in time.

Hannibal lowered his brow and paced round to the other side of the desk, where he gripped Will’s shoulder firmly and leaned in close to ensure that Will was looking directly into his eyes and could appreciate the severity of his words. Touching him alone was enough to display how serious he was, knowing that Will despised human contact of any kind. “Since I realised just how dangerous the powers we’re dealing with are.” A flicker of fear passed over Will’s face. Hannibal let him go suddenly with a slight push and the smaller man stumbled backwards a couple of steps before gathering himself and straightening his face, trying to stand up slightly taller than he was, but still fell short by only a couple of inches. Hannibal was secretly glad of that. Will certainly wasn’t the small thing he’d once been in his eyes, but he maintained a degree of superiority over the boy. “You would do well to recognise it, too,” Hannibal warned forebodingly.

“I do,” Will assured him, “but what other choice do we have?”

“To die graciously?” Hannibal suggested, retiring to the seat behind his desk once again and leaning back into the chair to present the impression that death did not frighten him at all. It did, of course. But he’d prefer to pretend that it didn’t.

“Death is never gracious,” Will said quietly, his voice hoarse and abounding with pain. He spoke with more understanding of death than Hannibal could ever hope to have, his eyes filled with intense wisdom and his face solemn with knowledge. Immediately, Hannibal regretted his choice of words and a surge of guilt passed over him. He desperately wanted to ask what Will had seen that made him look at him then with those tragedy-filled eyes, although he’d promised that he never would. Will knew more than he was letting on, or perhaps he was merely afraid to admit to it. But it would have been a secret haunting him for 6 years and Hannibal owed him for choosing to keep it.

“You’re right,” Hannibal replied softly. “We won’t be dying. Not yet.”

Will flashed him a hopeful smile. “So you’ll help with the summoning?”

“Yes,” Hannibal conceded, already recognising that he was making a big mistake, “I’ll help with the summoning.”

Will broke out into a grin. “This is brilliant. Now there will be 7 of us.” A circle of seven for a summoning was widely regarded to be the strongest number. It made containing the demon much more secure and they would definitely be needing all of the security they could get. “Being the eldest, you’ll have to take the lead, of course,” Will noted and Hannibal’s face dropped.

“Take the lead? I haven’t summoned even a lesser demon in 6 years, Will.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to do much more, just recite the Latin. Alana and I will be arranging it all.”

“Alana Bloom?” Hannibal recalled the glossy brown hair disappearing out the door, the look passed between her and Will as she left.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Will explained. He didn’t leave time for Hannibal to register that fact before he continued. “She’s been doing all the research, doing all of the translations, everything.”

“She must love you a lot to do that for you.”

“Well, we both love each other a lot,” Will said and Hannibal noticed the slight tremor of defensiveness in his voice. Hannibal smiled.

“And I assume that it’s safe to say that the two of you met without any… help?” Hannibal raised his eyebrows challengingly at Will, who only rolled his eyes in return.

“Thank you, Hannibal, but I don’t need any magic to help me attract girls,” he huffed and Hannibal caught a slight glimpse of the awkward 11-year-old boy he once knew slipping out.

“With a mug like that, not even Lucifer himself could help you,” Hannibal snickered jokingly and Will’s face broke into a smile. The moment lingered perhaps a little longer than was comfortable and seemed to drift into a solemn sense of camaraderie.

“I’ve missed you.” Will spoke softly, his gentler tone transforming him into the boy Hannibal remembered: a foot shorter with the messy hair and the glasses and the smile that only he was allowed to see — it appeared for him and only him. His heart swelled with a nostalgic fondness, which he tried to keep out of his reply.

“Certainly seems like you’ve managed without me.”

“I mean it, Hannibal.” Will’s face was suddenly deeply serious and the small boy who had been standing there mere seconds ago was gone. Warily, Hannibal embraced the loss and instead took in the grown man standing before him with a grave look on his face and eyes that demanded emotional honesty from him in a way that no one else could. He was all grown up now. Hannibal had to remember that. He had to respect that.

“I know,” Hannibal admitted, reaching over his desk and gently taking hold of one of Will’s hands, squeezing it through the soft leather. “I’ve missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done my research on black magic, but I'm just sort of drawing on different sources to come up with my own versions of how it all works and the lore behind it. There's a fair amount of exposition here, but certainly more to come! :)


	5. 28th of September, 1957

Hannibal fumed to himself as he marched through the bustling corridors, hauling his textbooks under his arm. He would be damned if he had to listen to Pat Boone’s saccharine crooning one more time before he was dead and buried. Anyone might be forgiven for believing that the Acorn House Common Room was a social club and not a space for working, what with the permanent swell of noise and chatter like a thick gagging fog. It was as if the teenagers were all intoxicated on the sappy love songs as the sound waves permeated the air and spread like a sickness. Forget Asian Flu; young love was the real pandemic in the modern day climate. Scratch that — young love had a been a deadly disease throughout human history, spread from one generation to the next by patriarchal notions of heterosexual romance. Surely some of those idiots recognised that fatuous melodies about undying love were part of their indoctrination into a mindless and monotonous society?

Hannibal realised he was being overly-cynical again and tried to cool his temper with slow inhalations through his nose. He had decided to head to the library to finish up his work, rather than give himself a bad back by trying to finish his work on the bed in his room. Although having his own room in his last year was far more preferable than having to share, it certainly lacked the fixtures that he considered necessities like a good writing desk. Not that it was necessarily something he expected to be rectified, but he was also vaguely irked that there wasn’t enough floor space to create a summoning circle. Fortunately, he only had one year left before he would have his own chamber at Oxford, where he would be free to indulge in his heretical pastimes. For the time being, he only needed to work hard and endeavour to succeed so that he could make his A levels and be accepted into the prestigious university he’d dreamt of attending since he was a child. At least that was exactly what he intended to do when he reached the library and slammed his books down on a desk in the corner, suitably isolated from the rest of the world, until he saw a familiar pair of glasses looking his way.

Despite Hannibal’s generous invitation, Will Graham didn’t seem too keen to follow him up on the offer to borrow his volumes of The Equinox and instead Hannibal found the third Volume on the returns cart in the library about a week after their meeting. He shrugged it off and checked out the book himself, but was nevertheless curious about the young boy with a strangely keen interest in Hermeticism. Now he saw Will trying to surreptitiously spy on him from a bookcase across the room.

Curious as to where this may lead, Hannibal put his head down and started working on his essay, but found himself distracted. Glancing up from under his eyelashes, he saw the younger boy pull up a chair at a desk nearby and bury his nose in a book, but Hannibal still had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t there simply to read. Nevertheless, he continued trying to soldier through his work, feeling those bright blues burning on him every so often until it became unbearable.

He slammed the book shut and stood up suddenly. He saw Will hastily shoot his gaze back down to his book. Hannibal got the impression that this was quite an isolated boy, but wasn’t sure if it was due to shyness or arrogance, or perhaps both. Either way, he wouldn’t be deterred by it.

Confidently he strode up to Will’s desk and pulled out a chair, asking in a hushed voice, “Are you going to sit there and stare at me all day or did you plan on saying hello at some point?”

Hannibal saw a slight blush raise on his cheeks before quickly dying down as Will muttered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes remained fixed on the page in front of him, yet his irises did not move, which led Hannibal to confirm his suspicion that the boy had no interest in reading his book right now.

“So you don’t want to tell me what you thought?” Hannibal pressed him, sitting down in the chair beside him and leaning across the desk to get a look at Will’s face from behind his shield. Perhaps he was testing the waters of their burgeoning acquaintanceship, testing how deliberately intrusive or annoying he could be and whether that would draw him in or simply push him away.

“About what?” Will replied, somewhat cagey but with a degree of falsified ignorance. What a defiant little bastard, Hannibal thought to himself, but couldn’t resist smiling slightly.

“The weather,” Hannibal returned sarcastically, grabbing Will’s book and forcing it away from his face. Rather than get annoyed, he saw a tiny smile appear on the boy’s face. Finally, Will turned to look at Hannibal and there was an unmistakeable sign of intrigue in his eyes which Hannibal had no doubt was reflected in his own. Not that he was often one to initiate prolonged eye contact, but he was aware that there created a certain paradoxical effect when two people stared directly into each other’s eyes and saw themselves reflected in the solid black of the other’s pupils, like placing two mirrors in front of each other. He felt as if he had just stepped into such a dizzying illusion when Will Graham looked right at him. Assuming that the boy felt it too, he only held the intense gaze for a matter of moments before fixating on some other feature of Hannibal’s face and he could feel Will tracing over every little detail like a chisel etching away at the marble of his skin.

 “It was interesting, but may have been even more so within the context of the first 2 volumes…”

Hannibal suppressed an urge to reach out and ruffle the boy’s hair, instead enquiring, “Was it your first time reading Crowley?”

“No. I found a copy of The Goetia when I was 10.” The tone in which the boy said it was as casual as if he had been stating the age at which he’d first read The Hobbit. He was definitely something special…

“That’s fairly intense literature for a 10-year-old. I myself wasn’t reading Crowley until I was at least 13.”

“I’m a fast learner,” Will said, a slight shrug in his shoulders. He was excellent and he knew it, but he wasn’t smug about it. No time for modesty, then.

“You’re a little protégé,” Hannibal murmured and almost licked his lips at the idea of a corruptible young soul to take under his wing. Or rather, this was a boy already heading down his own path of corruption and Hannibal may as well be the helpful older gentleman to take his hand and guide him along the way, if just to make sure that he arrived at his destination wherever that may be. Almost voicing his thoughts out loud, he commented, “You remind me of myself.” If a little rougher around the edges, he thought but restrained himself from explicitly saying aloud. Hannibal eyed the younger boy’s tousled hair and ill-fitting uniform. It looked second-hand. Once again, he caught sight of the boy’s gloves and his interest was piqued, but he refrained from asking. “If you’re free now, you’d be welcome to come along and see some of my own collection.”

Hannibal was desperate to know more about him, plunge further into his mind. He got the impression that Will was similarly taken by him, as if some greater force were driving them together.

“I could spare the time,” he answered nonchalantly, but Hannibal could tell he was brimming with enthusiasm underneath his supercilious exterior. He understood both Will’s keenness and the desire to repress that feeling. He hadn’t been remotely lying when he said that Will reminded him of himself, at least in the sense that it was typically only boys like them who found themselves being drawn in by the likes of Crowley and Whaite. There was an inherent loneliness to them both. Their minds were unique and superior, but they simultaneously craved mental stimulation, a real friendship. Only they had to be cautious about who they allowed to peek inside, lest they accidentally reveal too much to someone who wasn’t worthy.

“Don’t do me any favours,” Hannibal said playfully, admiring the boy’s cheek if nothing else.

“I’ll just have to trust that you have something worth seeing.”

“Believe me, I do. In fact, there’s one specific item you may be interested in…” It only came to mind then as Hannibal said it, but would of course be the perfect notion of his interest in guiding the boy, like a vicar handing a curious drop-in a book of psalms to peruse. Though in this case, Hannibal would be his shepherd, accompanying him through the valley of the shadow of death and he would fear no evil.

“Are you particularly invested in showing it to me?” Will asked, now barely retaining the charade of disinterest with his body language as he turned to face Hannibal fully.

“Matter-of-fact, I am. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to say yes.”

With that, Will closed the book which now lay neglected in front of him and left it abandoned on the table. It led Hannibal to wonder whether this wasn’t the first time that Will had sat down in the library with a book he lacked interest in to await Hannibal’s entrance. The idea seemed plausible, but maybe a little self-indulgent.

Hannibal stood also. “Let me just grab my things.”

Will waited patiently as Hannibal went back to his desk to gather up his books and unfinished essay. It could be postponed yet again, he supposed.

~

“So this is a Year 13 room…” Will marvelled as he stepped over the threshold. It was barely a broom closet, but Hannibal supposed it was something to envy for such a withdrawn boy who had to share with 7 others, crammed into 4 bunk beds, at his age. It occurred to Hannibal then that he had not invited anyone into his room before. He was making himself vulnerable, but the feeling was almost exhilarating. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him.

“Here is my collection,” Hannibal said, gesturing to the bookcase behind the door where his books stood in a neat line. Will immediately rushed over to it and began poring over the titles and authors, perhaps searching for something in particular or maybe only checking to see if he recognised any of them.

Taking the opportunity while Will was distracted, still vaguely guarded about allowing him to see everything, Hannibal went over to the cabinet in his bedside table where he kept the more obscure or incriminating evidence of his unorthodox hobbies. There was a pine box filled with various-sized candles in an assortment of colours; cloth bags with small pieces of pure metals: silver, iron, copper, gold; a miniature chest of multifarious dried herbs. Hannibal searched beyond them all to find an old book: the first item to ever find a place in his cabinet. Its age showed from the cracked spine to the loose pages, but it was nonetheless a cherished treasure. He was willing to part with it if it could hold the same importance to its recipient though. With one last stroke of a finger across the hardcover, he turned back to Will and held it out to him.

“Le Grand Grimoire, in the original French.” Will opened his mouth, about to protest. “Don’t worry, I’ve annotated practically the entire thing with English notes, though soon enough you should have picked up enough French from Monsieur Bernier to make rough translations yourself.”

Hannibal watched Will’s eyes widen in amazement as he received the book in his hands, holding it delicately as if it would disintegrate into dust if he held it too roughly. He looked from the book up to Hannibal’s face, then back down to the book again, perhaps more astounded by being given a gift by someone than the book itself. Suddenly his face fell and he thrust the book back into Hannibal’s hands, as if he’d been abruptly reminded that he was too proud and independent to accept charitable donations from practical strangers. “I really can’t take this,” Will sighed sorrowfully.

“Of course you can,” Hannibal replied, handing it back forcefully. “It’s not anything particularly valuable to me. Just a silly book filled with nonsense.” As he said the words, Hannibal was searching Will’s face carefully.

“So you don’t believe in any of it?” Will questioned, his voice slow and cautious. This was it, Hannibal realised, the moment where he would draw this boy out. There was an inquisitive darkness hiding behind those wide, blue eyes; a sombre spirit hovering in the shadows of his irises. He’d seen anguish and misery, Hannibal could tell. There was a time when he would see that exact same look staring back at him from the mirror, before he’d discovered how to get a handle on it and reign it in, disguise it and shove it back inside.

“I never said that at all,” Hannibal said with a shrug. Their eyes were locked. They were both waiting for the other to come out and say it.

“You said it was full of nonsense,” Will reminded him guardedly.

“Isn’t magic complete nonsense, just as the theory of gravity is complete nonsense? But I’m a man of empiricism, I’m afraid. I’ll believe what I see. And if it happens to be complete nonsense that works…” Hannibal allowed his voice to trail off while Will waited with bated breath.

Finally, he spoke in a hushed voice, whispering, “So you think it will work?”

“I used to think it would. So I tried it.” Hannibal continued to be deliberately vague, but with just enough detail to entice the younger boy.

“And?” Will leaned in just an inch.

“And now I know.” Hannibal also leaned in to meet him in the space between their voices.

Will blinked. “Does it?”

“Do you need me to answer that?”

Hannibal and Will stared deeply at each other for a few long moments, coming to an unspoken understanding, their gazes fixed firmly on the other’s eyes, searching for any hint of fraudulence before they allowed themselves to give in. When they finally did and a mutual connection reached them both simultaneously, they broke out in matching grins that were difficult for either of them to suppress. From that moment, they were bonded eternally.

Will’s fingers finally closed firmly around the gift Hannibal had given him and he hugged it tightly to his chest, like the physical representation of their embryonic friendship that it came to be. “Thank you,” he uttered finally, his voice slightly choked. The moment felt surreal to them both. “I should probably, uh, get back to Elderflower House before curfew.”

Hannibal nodded in agreement but neither of them moved. He realised after a few moments that his cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling and that was definitely a new sensation, almost frightening. “I’ll walk you back.”

Together they descended down the corridor and back through the Common Room to leave Acorn House. Hannibal escorted Will amidst the noise of the Common Room that he’d been trying to escape when he settled in the library earlier that day. Love Letters In The Sand was playing once again and Hannibal found himself grinding his teeth by the time they were back in the courtyard.

 Will’s House, Elderflower, was situated just across the courtyard, adjacent to Ivy House. There was another house behind the main building with its own library and facilities: Marigold. Of course, most people just called it the Girl’s House, since all the girls were put into it. There was no deliberate segregation of the sexes at Warren Place, but the division of the Houses and their boarding on campus seemed to work just as well.

As they walked, he heard Will singing under his breath. “ _Now my broken heart aches with every wave that breaks over love letters in the sand…_ ” Hannibal gazed at him in amusement until he noticed, stopping just short of the entrance to his House. “What?” he asked, his cheeks turning red though his voice sounded distinctively more defensive than embarrassed.

“You have a nice voice,” Hannibal said and left them as his parting words, turning on his heel and heading back towards his own House with a slight smile back in Will’s direction. Maybe Pat Boone wasn’t so terrible after all, he thought as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update has been so slow. I had to rewrite half the chapter at one point for reasons and then I got drunk last night and forgot. But this is where it all begins... I want to believe that their friendship from 1957 (which is totally non-sexual I will assure you now) is very heart-warming, but then again I cannot speak for anyone else.
> 
> For anyone who read my other fic, A Voice In The Dark, please listen to [this soundtrack](http://8tracks.com/serpentina/one-of-us-cannot-be-wrong) by serpentinne because it is beautiful and perfect.


	6. 1st of September, 1964

Hannibal’s timing was perfect as he managed to run into Bedelia just as she was entering her office, having parted ways with Will at his own office only a few minutes prior. He remembered how to get to the headmaster’s office — although he personally hadn’t spent much time there as a youth. He was on good terms with his teachers and somehow managed to keep any of his misdeeds below their radar (or perhaps it was wilful ignorance on their behalf, whether because his late father had always been a generous benefactor or because he was such an outstanding pupil that they didn’t want to mar his chances at Oxford with a negative personal record). Being sent to the headmaster was more often than not a punishment that he’d managed to avoid, or an appraisal he’d every-so-often achieved.

Bedelia looked up at him as he approached, her hand poised on the door knob and her lip curled up into a smile. She stood up straight as he approached and they continued their dance from earlier. It had been cut short but went nowhere in particular. Hannibal had a feeling their limbs would tire of the obfuscation and pleasantries before they reached the ritual’s climax.

“Mr Lecter,” she addressed him, then opened the door and stood back, “please do come in.”

She was being deliberately chivalrous in the same way an older gentleman might be towards a young lady in an attempt to undermine her. She was reminding him that her authority eclipsed his in the politest way possible: holding open the door. Hannibal submitted accordingly.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said and entered her office, sliding past her a little too closely.

It was just as he’d remembered from his rare visits there, only having dropped by to receive a commendation once or twice — the last time for his successful entry to Oxford. It was much grander than his own office, though that could only be expected. Shaped like T, it was lined with bookcases and titles which were printed on the sides in gleaming gold. The room and its many rows and rows of books stretched towards a triptych of windows at the very end opposite the door which appeared to have a perfect view of the main courtyard. Before the windows sat Bedelia’s desk and the chair from which she could watch all of the hustle and bustle of the courtyard, observing her students like a supreme overlord or benevolent dictator. She was a god now.

Rather than take a place on the seat facing the desk, Hannibal made his way over to the wing on the right hand side where a pair of armchairs awaited and he took a seat. Before taking her place in the chair opposite him, she made a beeline for the cabinet at the back of the room and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. About half an inch of the dark amber liquid was poured into each glass and the liquid glistened inside the crystal like glowing ambrosia.

“It’s not even midday,” Hannibal noted critically, though accepted his drink nonetheless.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little pick-me-up before your next class.” Bedelia appeared to smirk as she sat opposite Hannibal and crossed one long, elegant leg over the other. “Are you going to report me?” The question was facetious and Hannibal only took a long sip of his drink in response. The taste was smooth and malty, expensive. Hannibal considered himself more of a wine-man, but could definitely appreciate any drink that soothed the soul and came out of a pricey bottle.

“Ah, this explains that glazed look in your eye when you taught me Twelfth Night in Year 9,” Hannibal teased.

“It’s good to have you back,” Bedelia commented, ignoring his remark as she reclined into her armchair and gazed at him almost suspiciously. Where have you been, she was quietly asking.

“It’s good to be back,” Hannibal returned honestly, feeling quite at home back in the halls of Warren Place. Perhaps it was that salty sea wind that blew up from the South, or the petrichor that emanated from the damp brick buildings in the early morning, but there was something so distinctively homey about the place. More of a home than his house in London or his chamber at Oxford, at least. A chilling nostalgia may be the correct term.

“You’re no longer the zealous acorn, but the majestic oak tree,” she drawled and Hannibal wondered if this might not be her first drink of the day, but he accepted the compliment for what it was. He had matured. He was older and more beautiful and she was flirting with him again. This would be acceptable now.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t have grown so well if not for your nurturing touch, Bedelia.” He was reciprocating, almost unintentionally. It felt natural. There had always been an unconsummated flirtation flowing between them that would never be openly acknowledged or acted upon, but there remained a cheap thrill in it for the both of them. “Allow me to thank you for the opportunity to work here, once again.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have other engagements.” She was prying once again and he only shook his head.

“Just books and papers to written and reviewed — mere erudite concerns, but nothing requiring a long-term commitment.” He had been lost, if he was being honest with himself. Stuck in a rut of boredom and (he could admit it now) loneliness. His brief encounter with Will Graham had reminded him of all the benefits of a friendship. It had reminded him of what he’d left behind so readily all those year ago. Soulfully, he swallowed down the guilt that crept up his throat like an acrid bile.

“So then was there any particular reason that you chose to return?”

The mark on Hannibal’s chest burned. “I was looking for something new. Sometimes in order to grow and keep moving forward, we must look to the past for inspiration.”

“I hope you wouldn’t then feel too much like you were regressing if I made you the head of Acorn House.”

Hannibal was taken aback. Was there a catch?

“I haven’t even worked here a day and you’re making me the Head of House?”

“You were a prefect there for 2 years, which is plenty of experience.”

“It seems like a lot of responsibility.” It was. It meant taking care of all the students in Acorn House, arranging the Friday morning assemblies in the Common Room, making sure that all the facilities were in working order and ensuring that they all went to bed on time and didn’t leave their rooms past curfew. As a prefect, he’d taken on some of these responsibilities, but it was the Head of House who had to manage everything at the top, including the prefects and their jobs.

“You’d also get the main suite in Acorn House,” Bedelia added tantalisingly and Hannibal’s ears pricked up. He was well aware that the Head of House rooms were far superior to the other rooms available to teachers. He had never seen what the inside of the room looked like, but did remember the door that his old Head of House had disappeared into at the end of each day and had fantasised about what lay within. He was already sold.

“If you insist,” Hannibal conceded, with another sip on his drink and Bedelia’s smile widened. “It really will be like old times.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Of course it is. There was no time I enjoyed more in my life than my days here.”

“I recall you were an avid reader, always asking for new books in the library.”

Hannibal was sure he imagined the slight drop in temperature, the sudden icy quality of her voice.

“Nothing has changed since then,” he replied coolly and took another sip. He understood then why she had started off by pouring drinks. It was a good defence mechanism; a deflection from the awkwardness of one topic at the end of the sentence, inviting the next one to lead into something else.

“A lot of those titles would have been certain to raise a few eyebrows,” Bedelia hummed, gazing intently at the scotch in her glass as she said the words, “had anyone else been in charge of buying in the books.”

“Well then, I suppose I should consider it a blessing that it was you and not anybody else.”

“You should.”

Something passed between them: another moment of unspoken understanding. Hannibal had never been sure exactly how much she understood.

“I think you should think about moving your things into your new room about now. I will give you a set of keys that should work for all of the doors in the building.”

Bedelia finished the last of her drink and stood up, moving over to her desk where she picked up a ring of keys and held it out to Hannibal, who had followed her out of the wing. Dangling the keys above his hand, she gave him a slightly piercing look that reminded him the keys were more than just for locking doors.

“I won’t let you down,” he assured her.

“I know.” The keys dropped into his hand and he closed his fist around them. They were heavier than he first thought.

With that, Hannibal turned to leave and was just at the door when Bedelia called after him. He looked back over his shoulder to see her now sitting at the desk and giving him a stern look from her ministerial throne. “Yes?”

“Whatever you do,” she warned, “don’t use the second floor bathrooms.”

Hannibal’s throat was suddenly dry. He nodded at her and quickly pulled open the door, escaping just before a weight hit him right in the centre of the chest and he collapsed against a nearby pillar, devastated. With the keys still gripped in his hand, he knew the first place he would have to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't too eventful, but I think you guys will like the next chapter :D


	7. 5th of October, 1957

Hannibal was reclining against the wall outside the labs, impatiently checking his watch every few minutes. It was now past 4 o’clock, but then again the last lesson of the day (especially if it was Biology with Mr Blake) had a tendency to run over. Luckily, he had a study period and was all caught up with his assignments, meaning that he had nothing better to do than try to impress an 11-year-old.

He hadn’t spoken to Will since he gave him the grimoire, but they had passed each other a few times in the corridor: Hannibal surrounded by half a dozen acquaintances and admirers; Will solitary and keeping his head down. Hannibal would make the effort to direct his path into Will’s, trying to make sure he was noticed without having to touch him. He’d noticed the boy really didn’t like being touched. He couldn’t quite decipher whether that was due to some strange phobia or perhaps some issue with intimacy, but regardless, he didn’t want to frighten the boy. Inevitably, Will would see him and catch his eye and they would share a look, one that promised to catch up soon.

Hence why Hannibal was lurking outside Will’s classroom, eager to whisk the boy off for a minor adventure. Finally, there came the cacophony of voices and shoes, relieved at the end of the school week and anxious to escape the stuffy classroom and return to their dormitories. The door opened and Hannibal surreptitiously watched the flow of students go by until he saw those familiar chestnut locks, exiting last from the room.

“Hello, William,” Hannibal called out, looking imperturbably suave as he leant casually against the wall in just his shirt with the top button undone and his blazer slung over his shoulder. Startled, Will whipped back around and immediately broke into a smile at the sight of his friend.

“It’s just Will, actually.”

Typically sharp response, though definitely playful at heart. Hannibal rolled his eyes and moved away from the wall to stroll down the corridor with Will at his side. They certainly looked like an odd pair from any angle — he couldn’t think of any boy more unlike him on the surface, and yet they seemed to connect as easily as two adjacent jigsaw pieces.

“Would you prefer ‘My Little Protégé’?” he asked teasingly and Will made a face like he’d just tasted curdled milk.

“Definitely not.”

“Then Will it is.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to show you something. I knew you’d be having Biology last thing on a Friday, as all first years do, so I thought I would drop by after my English lesson.” That was a half-truth. He did have an idea that first years ended the week with a science lesson. He may have also asked Bedelia for his timetable, saying that he was tutoring the boy in the piano.

“Another book?” Will asked excitedly.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. But meet me outside the bathroom on the second floor of Acorn House tonight.”

Hannibal didn’t wait for an answer before suddenly stopping outside the door to one of the chemistry labs. Will paused for a second, confused, then watched as Hannibal flashed him a mischievous smile and darted inside. After a couple of seconds, he heard Will’s hesitant footsteps continue down the hallway and out of earshot.

Hannibal had stolen the key earlier that day with a little help from a demon named Valefor who was particularly inclined to assist thieves in their acts of petty crime. But the keys weren’t the only thing that he intended to steal that day as he stealthily snuck inside the storage room…

~

Hannibal had deliberately not specified an exact time to meet. He lingered out of sight in the hallway on the second floor, awaiting Will’s arrival and feeling a warm exhilaration pooling in his stomach, like his guts were liquefying. He was nervous and excited all at once, but was only admitting that to himself because he was certain that Will felt exactly the same.

It wasn’t long after 5:30 when Will finally showed up, looking out-of-place and anxious in the wrong house, probably having fought his way past the strange stares of older students who didn’t recognise him on the way. Hannibal peered at him from the darkened archway he stood under, watching as the small boy sidled up to the door to the toilets and tried the handle. It was locked. Of course, Hannibal already knew that and waited a couple of seconds to see the panic on Will’s face before emerging holding up the key.

“There’s a reason I told you to meet me here,” Hannibal explained as he revealed himself, materialising from the shadows back into the light in an almost nightmarish fashion. “This is one of the few bathrooms that can actually be locked. We really don’t want anyone to be walking in on us.”

He saw a flicker of fear pass across Will’s face and his gloved hand visibly tightened around the strap of his shoulder bag, but the trepidation was quickly wiped away by a defiant courage bubbling up from somewhere deeper within. The boy stood back, allowing Hannibal to open the door after a couple of inconspicuous glances up and down the hallway. Like spirits, they slipped inside.

“How did you get the key?” Will asked as Hannibal turned back to lock the door behind them.

“I’d love to brag that I stole it, but I only needed to ask my Head of House, Mr Crawford. As a prefect, I told him that I would take responsibility for the second floor bathrooms and he was more than willing to palm it off on me.” Hannibal turned back to Will, slipping the key into the breast pocket in his blazer, hidden behind the Warren Place emblem. Winking mischievously, he tapped the acorn pin on his lapel and said, “The benefits of the badge.”

Will set down his bag next to one of the cubicles and absentmindedly said, “Did you know that during the early witch trials, witches would pass an acorn to other witches as a secret way of revealing themselves. It was a symbol of Wiccan solidarity.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised. “No, I was not aware of that.”

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

They were still speaking in guarded language. It needed to end soon, because Hannibal was about to blow their secrets wide open. He moved into the centre of the room and knelt on the tiles between the cubicles and the sinks. From out of his bag, he drew a piece of charcoal and started to draw a wide circle on the floor. From behind him, he heard Will tense up and move in closer, observing Hannibal as he worked. No doubt, Will would be very aware of what he was doing.

“Did you know,” Hannibal murmured faintly, “that long ago, the Elder tree was used as a meeting place for witches?”

“No, I—”

“But perhaps more interestingly, the Elder tree is believed to have powers of protection.” Within the circle, Hannibal drew 5 lines, criss-crossing through the circle to create a star. “Elder twigs tied into a bracelet supposedly has a plethora of magical properties, amongst which, protection from the Devil is one.” Finally, he pulled out his journal and found the page where he had sketched the sigil he required and carefully drew it onto the dirty white tiles.

Hannibal leaned back and admired his work: a large circle with a five-pointed star inside and the sigil in the very centre. Opening his bag, Hannibal pulled out 5 items: a white candle, a vial of dried hyssop leaves stolen from the supply closet, an old lead bullet he had bought at a market in Canterbury, the tarot card for the 5 of swords and finally an empty cup. He placed every item at one point of the star and turned to look at Will, who was gazing at the summoning circle with utter fascination.

“Today,” he announced while standing up, “we are going to summon Zagan.”

“So you’ve done this before?” Will gulped.

“I’ve summoned a few demons, though nobody particularly significant. The first magic I practised wasn’t summoning, but more potions and tricks. When I was 13, I turned myself invisible to creep into the staff room,” Hannibal snickered, remembering it fondly, even if it the teachers’ gossip hadn’t been as scandalous as he had hoped.

“Don’t you need to boil a cat to do that spell?” Will chuckled nervously. Hannibal smiled to himself. Will had been reading the book he gave him.

“Don’t worry, it was already dead,” Hannibal assured him. It was only half a lie. The cat had certainly been dead before he put it in the cauldron at least. Eager to change the subject, he continued, “I tried Vassago the other week, but I failed.”

“He didn’t come?”

“No, I got one of his henchman. Apparently he wasn’t reachable. But that’s virtually a failure.”

“More than I’ve ever done.”

“That’s because you’ve never tried before. But you have a good energy, better than mine.”

“Do I?” Will’s face lit up at the praise and Hannibal nodded.

“Can’t you sense it? There’s an aura around you that expels magic with every breath you take.” It was true. It was like a crackle of electromagnetism, as if holding a compass near him would send the needle into a spin, or drive magnets apart. “Are you certain you’ve never had any direct experience before? Even a small incantation? A simple potion?”

Will averted his eyes quite noticeably and ferociously shook his head, his curls ruffling like a lion’s mane around him. Hannibal pursed his lips and knew that the boy was hiding something, but dared not push him too far too soon.

“Do you know the difference between in an invocation and an evocation?” Hannibal asked, walking into the centre of the circle and facing Will as he sat down cross-legged in the middle. Will nodded and rolled his eyes slightly as if he believed the question to be incredibly stupid. “It’s an important distinction,” Hannibal said defensively. “I merely wanted to check.”

There was a difference between calling on a demon for a favour, praying to them, getting a small something in return, and wanting to control the demon, make it do one’s bidding. Hannibal had never attempted the latter — it was dangerous magic. Nevertheless, he certainly planned on trying it out one day, perhaps when he had a request that was urgent enough to require that sort of power. Of course, he would not have been able to do it previously, not before he had Will’s involvement. The ritual itself for an evocation didn’t require too much differentiation from that of an invocation. The contents of the summoning circle would be the same, but the incantation would be different and, more crucially, the circle itself would have to be made up of at least 2 people (no more than 7) joining hands, rather than drawing the line on the floor.

But today, his only aim was to provide an induction for Will: to instruct and maybe even impress him. Not as a way of ensuring his compliance for any future endeavours into evocation, but to solidify their acquaintanceship. He was courting the younger boy.

It wouldn’t be anything too impressive, only one of the apocryphal incantations he’d noted down from one book or another into his journal. He’d never been too fond of Latin, but had scanned over the words briefly to ensure that they roughly meant what he thought they did and it seemed a simple enough request to make, but certainly a spectacle for anyone who had yet to see the true power of black magic.

“The most important thing,” Hannibal said, placing his hands on his knees and closing his eyes serenely, “is to create a welcoming environment for the demon. Fear is negativity. Disbelief is negativity. This applies to everyone in the room, not just the summoner.” One of Hannibal’s eyes cracked open and he looked at Will pointedly. Silently, Will nodded in return and receded into the shadows, where he watched the ritual with enthralment.

Hannibal began speaking then, reading the words scrawled in black pen in his own handwriting from the journal in his lap. It was not a long incantation, a mere 30 seconds of recitation, after which nothing happened. So he repeated them. Again, there was nothing. He waited a beat. This wasn’t abnormal, but the demon would usually come on the second recital and he was nervous about embarrassing himself in front of Will. There is always the fear that he was imagining it all in some strange fever dream and any attempt to show another living soul would expose him as a fraud. Finally, when he began speaking the words a third time, he felt the most beautiful feeling of potency and exhilaration racing through him, bone-deep and from the soles of his feet all the way up to his skull, which felt as if it was being hollowed out and filled again with something greater than himself.

As always, the demon’s appearance shocked him with how sudden it was. Being an air demon, it was as though Zagan had blown in on a gust of wind, like bronze autumn leaves swept up on a blustery day and forming the shape of a bull with wings right before him. The vague shape of the terrifying animal hybrid quickly dispersed however, and the entity was reformed as a man. He had dark skin and curly black hair, but as always his eyes were completely blank: hollow whites where irises should have been. But he smiled, ready to welcome Hannibal. Most of them preferred to talk with human suits (and being able to shapeshift into whatever shape they chose, they were perfectly capable of doing so). It made everyone more comfortable.

“Well, you’re new…” Zagan commented in an intrigued drawl, eyeing Hannibal, this mere child in his eyes, up and down with a slight smirk. He wouldn’t be able to see Will. Although Hannibal could still look past the demon and see Will’s face aghast with amazement, excitement tinged with terror, Zagan would only see what was inside the circle.

“Thank you for coming,” Hannibal said, his voice full of utmost respect and his eyes downcast.

“Thank you for summoning me,” he replied with an accent that Hannibal couldn’t place, but wasn;t entirely sure that it was of this Earth. “Anything to be free from that miserable place...” Belatedly, his face screwed up in distaste. Hannibal had noticed the demons’ willingness as of late to be free of whatever realm they came from. He supposed he could easily use that to his advantage at some point, but for now he only spoke with great veneration and a sole task in mind.

“Would you do me a favour?” Hannibal asked politely.

“What would you like?” Zagan asked, with his voice taking on an enticing hiss as if he was offering sinful temptation. “Courage? Charm? Wit?”

Hannibal hardly needed any of those things anyway. He shook his head. “Transubstantiation.” He lifted the book off his lap and picked up the handful of strips of zinc he’d snatched from the chemistry laboratory. He’d written down in his notes for the ritual that any pure metal would do and the school appeared to have these in the most abundance and therefore would be the least likely to be missed.

Zagan grinned. “Of course.”

Hannibal felt the exertion of power moving through him as if he was casting the magic himself, though he knew it was only due to the delicate and ephemeral psychic connection between the two of them at that moment. As always, it bordered on orgasmic — pleasure through some deep catharsis of his soul and he felt invincible for a few short seconds. Before his eyes, the metal came together as easily as if it were liquid and shaped itself into 3 shining pound coins in the palm of his hand.

With the task completed, Hannibal bowed his head in gratitude and uttered the closing words: “Malum expletum.”

Just as suddenly as he had appeared, Zagan was gone, leaving no trace that he had ever been there in his wake, other than the coins that sat gathering sweat in Hannibal’s hand and the vanishing of the charcoal on the floor. Summoning circles could only ever be used once and began burning away the second the demon appeared. It was crucial to ensure that the request was completed before the circle was broken, releasing the demon into the world. No, that was never a good idea.

Coming down from the experience and readjusting to the flat monotony of reality, Hannibal heard an astonished laugh from the back of the room. He’d practically forgotten Will was present.

“He was there! He was _really there_!” Will’s voice was amazed, drunk on the excitement that this was all _real_. Hannibal had the same moment himself after his first dalliance with the dark side, so he understood. But there was a distinctly artificial quality underneath it all, which led Hannibal to question once again whether Will had been lying about his experience with magic. He was sure that all the shock and the mild fright at seeing the demon in all its full-bodied presence and power was legitimate, but Will’s voice certainly didn’t hold all the wonder of a boy who had never seen anything like it before. It may not have been a demon, but Hannibal was certain that he had seen _something_. Even before then, he’d spotted that darkness in Will’s eyes… But it could wait. For now, he was satisfied with what he had.

Hannibal started collecting the leftover items from the circle. The candle was new and could probably be reused, so he blew out the flame and returned it to his satchel.

Will wandered back over to him, his walk staggered as if the air had been steeped with opium and he was still grinning manically. Hannibal stood up, coming to his full height and towering over Will, looking down at him with a fraternal fondness. He held out his hand, offering the coins to Will, who stared back up at him incredulously.

“For you,” Hannibal said softly, “my Little Protégé.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a very direct Harry Potter reference in there ("malum expletum"). My attempt at a rough translation, at least...


	8. 2nd of September, 1964

Hannibal knew that his return to the second floor bathrooms where he and Will had cast their magic and summoned demons could not be done alone. He needed to find Will, who had told him that it was safe, that Shax was gone. So why had Bedelia warned him not to use the bathrooms? Had Will been continuing to use them to practise magic in the meantime? Did she know about it and that was the reason for her tenuous caution?

These questions had driven Hannibal to have a fitful sleep and awake feeling like his whole body had been cast in lead. It was with this corpse-like quality that he set about locating Will in the morning. Hannibal managed to find him at one of the tables in the Main Hall with a fair amount of ease, as most of the students and faculty drifted in and out of the room in the morning in search of breakfast before they prepared for a day of classes. He approached Will from behind, having identified that halo of soft brown hair from the other side of the room, but took a moment to appreciate the sight of him first, before he made his presence clear. It was something that he had never witnessed before: Will with his friends.

Next to him sat the girl from his class yesterday, Alana Bloom, and on his other side there sat another girl. She had a shy smile and was gazing in platonic admiration at Will from behind a uniform curtain of chestnut brown hair. Opposite the three of them sat another trio who were clearly a part of their clique as they exchanged repartee back and forth, laughing and joking as they all ate. There was an Asian girl with a bright smile and her sleek black hair pulled up in a ponytail and it was then that he first noticed that her lapels were a dark green colour: that of Ivy House. Had Bedelia allowed girls into the other houses? Looking back to the girls on either side of Will, he saw that Alana had the sunset-orange borders of Marigold, whereas the nameless girl also had the ivy green borders. How strange. He wondered what else had changed in his 6-year absence.

On either side of the girl sat two boys from the same house as her, one of whom was grinning and talking animatedly while the other was leaning back and rolling his eyes, but smiling along nonetheless. They looked vaguely familiar. There was a possibility that they had attended Warren Place alongside him, but he had never paid the younger years much attention. Besides Will, obviously.

Slowly, Hannibal realised that these must be the friends that Will mentioned yesterday — the ones who were all well aware of their situation and were foolishly willing to help them both out. The 5 friends would constitute the remainder of their 7-strong summoning circle when they carried out their imprudent plan to summon the Devil. Hannibal pushed that thought to the back of his mind and instead urged himself to retrieve Will. However, he actually struggled to bring himself to disrupt the conversation, especially when he saw Will contribute along with an exaggerated gesticulation of his arm, throwing the rest of the group into laughter. When his hand landed back on the table, Hannibal expressly noted Alana’s hand coming up to rest on top of it — still gloved, of course — and they exchanged a short look of affection. That was the final encouragement for Hannibal to tear Will away once again, back to the dismal reality of their situation and the haunting reminders of their shared past.

These friends of his may have been close to him now. Alana’s hands may have caressed his through his soft gloves. But none of them could compete with the bonds that tied Hannibal and Will together. They had a history. It ran deep, right down to their very bones and then some.

“Will,” Hannibal said, announcing himself and coming up behind him to delicately place a hand on his shoulder. He would never usually touch the boy, knowing he wasn’t fond of the contact, but he had an almost possessive desire to do so at that moment. All 6 pairs of eyes suddenly turned to look at him and Will’s smile suddenly disappeared, dropping off his face as if he’d been slapped.

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked in a solemn tone, and Hannibal’s chest tightened at the thought that his presence was some kind of negative omen for Will now. It hadn’t always been that way, had it? There was definitely a time when the boy might sit alone and Hannibal would neglect his own peers to approach him and his face would light up like a match that had been struck against a tinder box.

“I think you and I need to talk,” Hannibal answered vaguely and Will frowned before mouthing an apology to all of his friends, who nodded in understanding before staring wide-eyed at Hannibal, as if they were in disbelief that he was really there. Had Hannibal existed as some kind of fantasy before his arrival? A mythological creature from Will’s past? Or did they all remember a time when he prowled the hallways at Warren Place?

Before Will left the table, he squeezed Alana’s hand once more and there was a look passed between them again. Hannibal found himself almost frustrated that he didn’t have the psychic power to read it himself.

As they exited the hall, Hannibal turned back to see Will’s friends eyeing the two of them on their way out. He couldn’t seem to get a read on them either. They looked at him almost like he was a dying animal and they weren’t sure whether they should be putting him out of his misery by sticking a blade through his head. Then again, Hannibal wasn’t entirely clear about how much they knew, either about Will, or himself, or their past. But clearly, they knew something.

“So where are we going?” Will asked as Hannibal led him down the hallway.

“Didn’t you want to introduce me to your friends?” Hannibal asked in return, trying to shake off the scratch of irritation that Will was somehow causing him.

“We can do that later. You acted like this was urgent. Where are we going?”

Hannibal could hardly blame Will. He made friends. He got a girl. He was happy. Why wasn’t Hannibal happy for him? Why did he have that urge to sabotage it all?

“Our old meeting place,” Hannibal eventually said, with a deliberate attempt to phrase it like a reminder that they were old friends.

Will nodded. “Do you have the keys?”

“Yes.” Hannibal then considered the question for a second and asked, “Do you?”

With a bashful smile, Will replied, “I may have my own…”

Hannibal couldn’t resist smirking to himself. Sly as ever… Then the smile fell. He had to remember that this was serious business. “You told me that Shax was gone.”

“He is. But…” Will’s voice trailed off and Hannibal stopped in his tracks, grabbing the sleeve of Will’s blazer and pulling him to the side of the corridor, into one of the dark alcoves that was set into the wall. Trails of students and teachers continued to stream past them as Hannibal held Will in place, very aware that he was making the boy uncomfortable by pushing them into such close proximity.

“This isn’t a bloody joke, Will,” Hannibal said gruffly, watching how Will strained to escape the claustrophobic space but was kept firmly in place by Hannibal’s grip. He squirmed under Hannibal’s hands in an oddly rigid way, not wanting to have to actually physically push the other man off him. Aware of this fact, Hannibal used Will’s discomfort to his advantage.

 “You think I don’t know that?” Will snapped back at him angrily and there was certainly still a fire that burned in his eyes.

“You’re certainly acting like you don’t.” Will ripped one of his sleeves free of Hannibal’s hand but he only took the opportunity to grasp the collar of the blazer instead, his fingers coming dangerously close to the bare skin on Will’s neck and he heard his breath hitch in his throat.

“What would you like me to do?” Will hissed, his eyes now glaring with some degree of fright at Hannibal’s hand near his throat as if it were a razor held to his aorta. “Swear off magic? Run away? Come back in 6 years only because my life is in danger?”

Hannibal was taken aback by the pure animosity of Will’s words. He knew there were open wounds there, but he wasn’t aware how red and raw they still were. He had hoped, however, that his return would have been more like applying a plaster and not so much like rubbing in salt. Regardless, he shook his head. “Will, this isn’t the time. I need to know: is Shax still inside the mirror?”

“No.” The answer was so clear and firm that Hannibal began to feel vaguely guilty and his grip loosened.

“Then why did Bedelia tell me not to use the second floor bathrooms?” he whispered demandingly and Will only rolled his eyes in return.

“If you actually go there, maybe you’ll find out.”

In a final act of frustration, Hannibal let go of him suddenly, pushing him roughly back into the brick and Will glared at him with wide eyes, expressing his hurt at Hannibal’s unsolicited forcefulness. Remorsefully, Hannibal looked around to see if anyone had noticed their dispute, but they all appeared to be going about their lives as normal. He hadn’t meant to become so worked up, nor get at all violent. He knew why he was so upset with Will though and he knew why Will was upset with him. In all honesty, it was all Hannibal’s fault. He had abandoned Will and he had no right to be angry with him for making new friends, while Will had every right to resent him for the abandonment. Nevertheless, Hannibal couldn’t help feeling like he had some claim on Will.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed and Will’s glare softened slightly at the words. It shouldn’t have, but Hannibal knew that Will had the same unexplained affinity for him as he did for Will.

“It’s fine,” Will mumbled and continued walking down the hall.

Hannibal hurried after him, murmuring into his ear, “Later, we should talk about what you said back there.” He wanted to fix this between them. He didn’t like the idea of Will hating him.

“Later,” Will affirmed and then there was silence until they reached the Acorn house bathrooms where they used to carry out their mischief.

Hannibal used his own key to open the door, explaining, “Bedelia made me the Head of House,” as he opened the door. “Honestly, I’m not entirely convinced why.”

“You know, everybody always thought that the two of you were shagging, right?” Will chuckled as he stepped into the bathroom and the door was slammed shut and vigorously locked behind the two of them. The bathrooms were icy cold as always and hummed with the screeching of old pipes. Every so often, the echoing drip of a leaky tap provided a percussive sound alongside the squeaking of their shoes on the shiny, smooth floors once again.

He remembered Will’s laugh reverberating through the room, his own voice commanding the demons to rise and the smell of burning wax lingering on the air as they chanted together. The place was a box of nostalgia, like uncovering a dead relative’s chest in the attic and finding that all the clothes were still scented with sweet basil and pine needles, there was still a couple of pennies hidden in the sole of a shoe. Hannibal breathed it all in.

“Who says we weren’t?” Hannibal answered back flippantly. Will seemed to freeze for a second, looking at Hannibal with his jaw hanging open slightly until he caught the playful grin on Hannibal’s face and he broke out into a matching smile.

“Very funny,” Will said, teasingly pretending to hit Hannibal on the arm, though his hand stopped short of meeting him, as always.

“It’s possible for a teacher to have a close relationship with a pupil without anything scandalous happening,” Hannibal pointed out, then tardily appended, “Just look at us.”

“Perhaps not the best example,” Will snorted. “We are intending to summon Lucifer in a school bathroom…”

“Ah. You may have a point there,” Hannibal pondered, before glibly adding, “Maybe we should have an affair to cover it up?”

Will made a face like he’d sunk his teeth into a particularly sour lemon. “I think I’d rather be exposed.”

Hannibal snickered. “No need to seem _so_ repulsed, Will. It wasn’t a serious suggestion. Believe me, if I had any intention of romancing you, I would not be propositioning you so near to the toilets.”

Will turned away. Clearly the subject matter was making him uncomfortable. Hannibal wondered whether to chalk it up to disgust, or to stroke his own ego by concluding that Will secretly harboured a love for him. While the former seemed more likely, the latter certainly made sense in its way.

In Will’s formative years, Hannibal had been a strong influence. It was right when Will was at his most impressionable age and had just reached the starting line of puberty. Now Hannibal was suddenly present in his life once more and Will himself was fully mature. The development of sexual feelings for him wouldn’t be abnormal, regardless of his sexuality. If Hannibal had discovered anything at university, it was that men’s sexual desires were often confused and easily manipulated based on some latent curiosity about The Dangers of Homosexuality.

Briefly, Hannibal considered trying to exert the power of influence that he’d already built with Will (coupled with his position as an authority figure) to manipulate him in a similar way, but very hastily rejected the idea. Will was still special to him and far more so than any of the men he had ever shared his bed with. Some intimacies went far beyond the physical and Hannibal had to remind himself quite brusquely not to let Will’s apparent beauty distract him from that fact. Though he was certain that if he wanted to bed the boy, he could. Nevertheless, he let the subject drop and decided not to let it distract him ever again.

“Well, here it is,” Will announced with very little fanfare, standing in front of the large mirror that now had a cloth draped over it.

“Why is it covered up?” Hannibal asked, feeling a lump form in his throat.

“You’ll see,” Will replied forebodingly and with a single tug, he pulled the cover away from the mirror and it fell to the ground like the curtain dropping at the unveiling of a new masterpiece, pooling around the foot of the mirror in a shower of dust. It looked normal from where Hannibal still stood by the door, but he could see by the way that Will gazed into it with mesmerised repulsion that there was something wrong with it. Approaching with caution, he wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw.

Once he stepped into view of his own reflection, he watched in terror as the flesh became stripped away from his face in bloody ribbons, peeled excruciatingly away from the muscle to leave him a grisly mess. His face became distorted, the eyeballs bulging and mouth hanging open in a twisted, silent scream as the remaining flesh began to bubble up and melt away from the bone, dripping like hot candle wax down what was left of his face.

Hannibal could no longer watch, turning away and retching as bile rose up in his throat, which he swallowed down, grimacing against the acidic burn. He had a strong stomach for violence and gore, and had inflicted such awful pain himself in the past, but the image seemed to be accompanied by a strong sense of dread, like he’d been punched in the stomach. Or no— worse than that. It was as if a fingernail had made a small perforation in his abdomen and he could feel a ghostly hand pulling out his guts, inch by inch, with every single second that he continued to watch, but gathering the strength to look away was difficult.

“I exorcised the mirror,” Will spoke in a distant voice, still transfixed by whatever he saw (though was invisible to Hannibal). “Then a boy came in here to use the bathroom. First year. His name was Gabriel. I heard him screaming and had to drag him out. He was crying.” Will’s voice was shaken as he struggled to continue. “I locked the bathroom up and ran. I left him there on the floor…” Finally, Will tore himself away from his own reflection to look at Hannibal, his eyes shiny with tears. “He killed himself.”

Hannibal felt less sympathy for the dead boy than for Will, who was clearly deeply distressed by the memory. He despised seeing Will in pain like that. It filled him with a more potent sense of dread that even the mirror did. “I’m sorry,” he muttered supportively. He didn’t know what else he could say, what else he could do.

“Don’t be,” Will sighed. “We couldn’t have known. But it’s like a piece of him is still stuck in there. I just keep the door locked and, after what happened, the entire school is convinced it’s haunted and won’t set foot inside anyway. Bedelia too, apparently. There’s also this…” Will walked over to him and with surprising deftness given his gloves was able to undo the buttons on Hannibal’s shirt. Hannibal allowed him to, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, disregarding the surprisingly performance of closeness on Will’s behalf. When his shirt hung open, revealing the hideous black demon’s mark underneath, Will pulled Hannibal back to the mirror and he watched with sick fascination as the black skin spread and grew, twisting all over him like a carnivorous ivy until he was completely covered.

Feeling his stomach flip, Hannibal pulled back, looking away from the image. “Cover it up,” he commanded, his voice dark and low.

Hannibal was then mildly shocked to feel Will’s hand on his arm — his hand, not the glove, against the sleeve of his shirt, radiating warmth against his bicep. Twisting round, he looked at Will with his eyebrows raised and saw him holding one of the gloves in his hand and the other reaching out towards him.

“I just thought you might want— I don’t know, it was stupid,” Will grumbled and hastily started pulling the glove back on, his face red and flushed.

“Don’t ever do that, Will,” Hannibal warned him, his voice full of concern. “I would never ask you to.”

Will only nodded, blatantly embarrassed by his display of affection.

Hannibal eyed him as he started to do up his shirt and caught Will’s surreptitious glance at his bare chest.

Maybe he was only studying the Black Rose. Or maybe it was something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep getting ideas for new stories and then neglecting this one to think about the others, but oh man, this one is really about to start heating up.


	9. 7th-8th of October, 1957

The weekend passed by in a flash as Hannibal and Will suddenly found themselves bound together. Hannibal came to find him on both Saturday and Sunday at breakfast and they excitedly hurried to the bathroom where they could sit on the floor with their books thrown open and discuss the plans they had for the following month as they researched the appropriate demons from the Goetia and Hannibal used his botanical books to study the properties of the flora he’d been able to locate all over the grounds. Sometimes they were silent for long periods at a time as they read next to each other, but they were always together.

“You know,” Will sighed as they lay next to each other on their bellies, scanning over their respective books, “I could really use Crocell to help with my homework.”

Hannibal snorted. “You’re an intelligent boy, Will. You hardly need dark magic to improve your grades. Now I think something a little more appropriate for your first spell might be…” Hannibal trailed off, running through the various demons and their preferred magic, before he landed on a familiar name and smiled to himself. “Have you lost anything important to you recently?”

Will frowned, thinking for a few moments. “Actually, the other day… I misplaced my fountain pen.”

“Is that all?” Hannibal asked, slightly unimpressed.

“It was a present from my Dad,” Will mumbled, sounding hurt and causing Hannibal to withdraw, nodding.

“Then meet me here tomorrow after your classes finish.” Hannibal paused, then added, “Do you have a mercury thermometer by any chance?”

“I don’t think so,” Will said, shaking his head.

“No matter. I’m sure I can get my hands on one,” Hannibal replied with a smile, before turning to look out the window and seeing that the sky was already pitch black. “You’d better head back to your room. The bell for lights out is bound to come any minute now.”

Will pursed his lips and nodded sadly, packing up his things and shoving them into his bag. Hannibal understood the boy’s frustration. For once in his life, he found himself disappointed by how few hours there were in the day.

~

By the time Will arrived at the bathrooms on Monday afternoon, Hannibal had already set up a summoning circle for him. He immediately left his final class, a spring in his step, as he hurried back to his room to collect the items that he’d put together for the summoning the night before. In the bathrooms, he’d followed the same method he had on Friday afternoon of drawing the circle and the five-pointed star in charcoal. At each point of the star, he had laid an orange candle, a jar of dirt collected from the grounds, the 8 of pentacles tarot card, a few fibres from a maguey rope and a dish which contained a few droplets of mercury from a thermometer that he had carefully snapped in two.

The thermometer had been the hardest item to procure that time, as it required faking a fever and being sent to the nurse at Lunch, when he managed to swipe a thermometer. Over the years, he’d become quite talented at procuring the items he needed for his circles though. The maguey rope, being one of the first, had also been one of the hardest. It was woven out of pita fibres, from the century plant, a fact he had discovered after poring through an encyclopaedia and trying to find out how he could procure any of the plant when it didn’t grow in the British Isles. Determined as ever, after a couple of calls abroad, he’d managed to get a length of it shipped over from Mexico. He would hardly be likely to go so far for any items nowadays, though. But there was a time when he had been desperate to perform the ritual.

Hannibal looked up when he heard the door open, then relaxed when it was only Will. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and threw them over to the younger boy to lock the door with and he did so hurriedly.

“Who are we summoning?” he inquired excitedly, setting his stuff down and leaning over the circle to study each item, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

“The first demon I ever summoned: Foras. He’s a very wise and intelligent demon, but we’re not asking him for his knowledge. He also recovers lost items,” Hannibal explained as he carefully gripped the charcoal in his fingers and drew the sigil on the floor with Will watching on intently.

“What did he give back to you?” Will asked innocently and it must have been a sign that the boy was already special to Hannibal when he gave an honest answer.

“My sister’s ring,” Hannibal said in a near-whisper, his hand pausing. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say her name. The ring still sat on his bedside table, one of his most treasured possessions.

“You have a sister?” Will asked, clearly surprised.

“I did. She’s dead. Her and my parents. They were murdered.” Hannibal allowed his words to sit heavily in the stunned silence. He knew what to expect: sympathetic eyes, an awkward hug or pat on the shoulder, apologies for nothing in particular. He had grown accustomed to it all when the news first came, as well as every time afterwards when he told someone and saw their face melt into one of utter pity. He could have clawed their eyes out.

“That’s why you got involved in dark magic,” Will whispered sadly, gently sinking down onto the floor to kneel next to his friend. Hannibal hadn’t expected that. His head shot up as he dropped the charcoal and eyed the other boy suspiciously. Why would he think that? He was right, but how in the world did he draw that conclusion? “Hannibal, _I know_.”

At first, he was unclear about what Will was referring to. Then it dawned on him. There was another reason they were kindred spirits, other than their interest in black magic. Death always drove people to do stupid things.

“So you’re an orphan, too?” Hannibal asked, searching the endless, tormented oceans of Will’s eyes. Slowly, silently, he nodded. Hannibal believed he felt Will reaching out to him mentally, intangible arms extending out across the empty space to meet him. Neither was prepared to initiate physical comfort, but they were both aware of the other’s desire to be a friend, offer a shoulder to lean on. Instead they just sat there, gazing sorrowfully into the heart of the summoning circle. Strangely, it was enough.

Then another thought struck Hannibal. It was no lie that his first summoning had been Foras to retrieve his sister’s ring, which had been stolen from her corpse, but that hadn’t been his ultimate goal. He only needed the ring so that he could use an item of hers to summon something else: a ghost, her spirit. He’d so desperately just wanted to see her face once more, to hear her voice for a final time, before he promised to never do it again. He knew the dangers of becoming too obsessed with the past, caught up in the affairs of the dead.

So was it much of a jump to assume that Will may have also become interested for the same reason? To contact his dead parents? Was this the secret he seemed to be hiding?

Hannibal finally gathered up enough courage to start his interrogation. “Will, I want you to be honest with me. Have you ever practised magic before?”

“I already told you,” Will answered firmly. “No.”

“But were you lying?” Hannibal catechised and did so regretfully.

Will sighed deeply. “No, I wasn’t lying.” He held his breath as if he was about to continue, but then sighed again and looked away.

“Will?” Hannibal had to press him, even if he didn’t want to. He felt like he was being invasive, like he was treating him in a way that he would have despised if it was anyone else. They’d only just shared a beautifully intimate moment by confessing they were equally as acquainted with death, grief, sorrow. Hannibal hardly wanted to drive him away after that.

“I have had… experience with magic,” Will finally confessed, his voice small and in some way ashamed or afraid. “It wasn’t necessarily…” He searched for the right word for a while. “… Consensual.”

“Someone used it on you?” Hannibal asked, more shocked by the revelation than he had expected to be. Will didn’t speak for some time. The silence dragged before he finally nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes still avoiding meeting Hannibal’s. “How?” His voice came out raspy, filled in equal parts with both sympathy and rage.

“A curse. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But I know someone must have cursed me. It’s the only explanation for… what I can do.” Right then, Will looked directly at him and his eyes were wet with tears but had a steely determination behind them. “I’ve never told anyone this.”

“You can tell me,” Hannibal assured him, sensing the trepidation in his voice, needing Will to be able to trust him. He wanted to be his confidant.

“You’ve probably wondered why I wear gloves all the time, right?”

“I can’t say that the question hasn’t occurred to me,” Hannibal admitted, his gaze now slipping down to Will’s hands as they twisted nervously in his lap.

“It’s because… when I touch someone… I… I can—” He broke off suddenly, turning away and shaking his head furiously, his hands now balling up in distress. “No, I can’t do this.”

“Will, please,” Hannibal implored, grabbing his arm and pulling him back towards him, but then immediately regretted it when he saw how Will flinched and froze up under his touch. He threw his arms up in apology and leaned back, as if he’d just accidentally hit the boy.

“Don’t worry,” Will sniffed, “it has to be skin contact.”

Hannibal nodded and but remained at a distance from Will, still reeling from the possibility that he had caused him some kind of pain or discomfort, although he still wasn’t aware of what exactly happened when he touched someone.

“Regardless, I’m sorry,” he spoke clearly, yet there was still an icy air lingering between them. He prayed that he hadn’t damaged their friendship beyond repair before it had even begun, but then Will seemed to open up slightly. It was as if he had been a puppet sewn together too tightly and the stuffing was bursting out of the seams, until a pair of gentle hands used a sharp blade to sever the stitches, allowing his insides to finally spill out. Will’s lungs seemed to empty themselves in a long puff of air: a sweet release from the secret that had been weighing on his soul for so long, and Hannibal watched as Will was liberated from its clutches, visibly freeing himself.

“When I touch someone, I see them die.”

Will was staring at him, expecting a reaction. But what exactly was he meant to say to that?

Eventually, Hannibal tried to speak, words forming before he was even quite sure of what to say. “… I don’t… understand.”

“I can see the moment of their death, like I’m living it. I see everything, I hear everything, I feel _everything_.” Will’s voice seemed to break in his throat, like a fine china plate smashed against the wall.

Hannibal opened his mouth, unsure of how to continue. This was completely unexpected. Horrific, but strangely intriguing. He had somehow known ever since he first met Will that this boy was truly something special, different, unlike anyone else he had ever or would ever meet. He had never anticipated this, though.

“But… why?”

“I already told you,” Will sighed, his voice sounding slightly irritated at the question and Hannibal could forgive him for that. It was a stupid question and he regretted asking it. “I don’t know.”

“For how long?”

“My whole life, as far as I can remember. At first, I didn’t understand what it was. I thought it was normal. Then I realised what was happening and that it definitely wasn’t. When I read the Goetia, I figured it must be something to do with that, probably a curse on my mum that passed back to me.”

Increasingly, Hannibal understood the gloom that lurked behind Will’s eyes constantly. He had seen constant horror all his life and could not initiate physical contact without being forced to do so again. It all made sense. Why he was so withdrawn, so inclined towards the darkness. He had been forced down this path against his will and at the cost of his innocence. The very thought of it angered Hannibal something fierce.

“I’m going to help you, Will,” Hannibal announced all of a sudden and Will eyed him uncertainly.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to cure you. We’re going to free you from your curse.” He sounded so sure of himself, though even then the idea that had come to him was a mere seed. It had yet to develop into anything solid.

Will scoffed, “How exactly do you plan on doing that? You know, I have been researching this for a long time and I don’t even know what the curse is, let alone if there is a cure for it.”

“We only need to think outside the box,” Hannibal said with a thoughtful grin, a plan brewing. “But you’re going to need plenty of experience first, so summon this demon.”

Hannibal stood up and stepped back before handing Will his journal. Will blinked at him confusedly a couple of times as he lit a match and held it to the wick of the candle, setting the ritual in motion.

Looking back at him, Will watched Hannibal for some kind of affirming gesture before he looked down and started reading. His voice was careful and measured, trying to make sure he got all the right pronunciations and didn’t stumble over his words while Hannibal looked on in admiration.

The room became swathed in darkness.

A chill filled the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put this story on the back burner for about a week to focus on Dragon Slayer (my other story, if you wanna check it out), but I'm back. I'm hoping to do another chapter on top of this before finishing the other half of DS.
> 
> And I guess this is one of the many big reveals. Yeah, expect MORE!


	10. 5th of September, 1964

“We’re all going to have a role to play, though some roles may be bigger than others,” Alana explained with a clear voice far too mature for her age in Hannibal’s office, while he sat bristling at his desk. The room was overpopulated with Will’s friends and he hadn’t remembered making any student except him welcome. As much as he respected Alana and she had continued to demonstrate a sharp mind in his class, he didn’t enjoy her taking over what he considered to be his own domain. She somehow espoused a maternal authority in spite of her age and commanded the room easily. “I think it’s important that we meet here every fortnight to go over the details, practise and hopefully iron out any qualms.”

Hannibal groaned internally. Bored and mildly irritated, he tuned out the rest of Alana’s speech and instead focused on Will. He was standing next to her, leaning against one of the bookcases and paying her plenty of attention, his eyes focused on her face and nodding every so often. Hannibal wondered if that was what love looked like as he observed Will observing her. He tried to identify indicators of the fact that they were romantically involved by the way Will’s eyes locked onto her face or how his body stood in relation to hers. He tried to look for something even remotely like the look he had seen Will giving him on Wednesday.

That one look had caught his eye and somehow managed to torture him for the past few days. Now Hannibal was trying not to obsess over what it meant when it could easily have meant nothing. But he was _sure_ it meant something.

Maybe he was imagining it, though. Reluctantly, Hannibal reasoned that he could have easily just been subconsciously reflecting his own desires back onto Will. Then he was forced to ask himself: did he desire Will? Would that be creepy or predatory, given the dynamics and history of their relationship?

Upon his return, he had immediately noticed Will was good looking, though there was nothing inherently lustful about that observation. Simply put, he was an attractive young man. If he was anyone else, then Hannibal might have been making plans to seduce him, as he had considered before he saw Will looking at him like that, when all he had to go off was a slight blush at the mention of their involvement. But he wasn’t _just anyone_. He was Will. Hannibal actively didn’t want to see Will in that way and had sworn to himself not to see him in that way.

No, it must have been Will looking at him like that, Hannibal determined. Will definitely felt something for him, even if it was only sexual curiosity.

With a feeling of dread, Hannibal realised he would have to talk about it with him. Their relationship was already too complicated to allow Will to continue lusting after him. Better to nip it in the bud.

Mindfully, Hannibal studied Will’s face, trying to think of how best to broach the topic. Just then, Will caught his eye and broke out into a grin. Hannibal couldn’t repress the smile that spread across his lips, especially when Will inconspicuously made a face at him, trying to catch him out. Just then, Alana glanced sideways at Will and his expression immediately straightened, a rosy blush gracing his cheeks, so Hannibal looked down into his lap to disguise his amusement.

“Hannibal?” Alana’s voice caught his attention finally. Apparently they were already on a first name basis. His neck snapped back up and he saw the whole room gazing expectedly at him. “Would you like to add anything?” she asked and he shook his head while Will snickered behind her.

“No, Miss Bloom, you said it all perfectly,” Hannibal praised her, with any luck saving face.

She gave him a slightly uncertain look, but continued nonetheless. “It’s crucial that we all get at least some practise with magic in before January. The more accustomed you are with magic of any kind, the stronger your link in the chain will be and, as we all know, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”

Hannibal chose that moment to return his attention to Will and saw him look down at his shoes. He was ashamed. The fool still blamed himself for what happened.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Hannibal interjected, “but have any of you had any real experience with summoning before?”

There was silence as they all looked at each other and mumbled.

“Not yet,” Alana answered smoothly, speaking on behalf of her friends, “but that’s why we’re giving them plenty of time to practise. We’re also obviously grateful to have you with us now. Your experience will be vital to us.”

“From what Will told me, I won’t be doing much of anything at all.”

“Well, you will be leading,” Alana reminded him. “That’s the most important role of all. Will has also told me that you haven’t been practising much magic as of late, so I strongly recommend that you become accustomed with it once again.”

Hannibal felt that same nudge of irritation he felt any time someone tried to tell him what to do.

“As far as I know, Will and I are the only ones here with any experience whatsoever,” Hannibal stated coldly, “and I can assure you that when it comes to evoking a demon, no amount of invocation experience can adequately prepare you.”

Perhaps he was just trying to be contrary by saying it, but the statement itself was no lie. Will remained silent, probably as a way of supporting Alana, but Hannibal could read his face and see that he agreed.

“It can’t hurt,” Alana added quietly.

Hannibal wanted to shrug back at her and remind her that the only people with nothing to lose here were himself and Will. But everyone else? If the summoning went badly, they would be paying the price. He refrained.

Will took it upon himself to somewhat dispel the tension that had descended upon the room by making introductions.

“Hannibal, this is Beverly Katz, Brian Zeller, Jimmy Price and Georgia Madchen,” Will said, going clockwise around the room. “You’ve already met Alana in class of course. And guys, this is Hannibal.”

“I remember,” Brian piped up. “You went here when I was in my first year.”

“Yeah, I remember too,” Jimmy said.

“No, you don’t, you liar,” Brian scoffed. “You were too busy with your nose in a book to pay attention to anything.”

“Everyone remembers Hannibal Lecter, though,” Jimmy laughed then quietened when Brian shot him a look. Hannibal’s eyebrows raised. He was unaware that his name had been so hot on everyone’s lips.

“What about you two?” Hannibal asked the two girls, who had remained quiet. “Does my reputation precede me?”

The dark haired girl, Beverly, shook her head. “We only joined a couple of years ago, after they made Ivy House co-ed.”

“What about you?” Hannibal asked Alana, smiling stiffly.

“I was here when you were in your last year, but I certainly wouldn’t have met you. Marigold was rather withdrawn from the rest of the school until recently. Will and I only met when we were put in the same Maths class for our A levels.” So they would have only met about a year ago, Hannibal worked out. “There’s less sex segregation now that Ms Du Maurier is in charge, though. One of the many crisis signs,” Alana sighed, rolling her eyes and Hannibal’s interest was piqued.

“You disapprove of her?” he asked, the curiosity in his tone quite clear.

“Not at all,” Alana said defensively. “She’s doing the best she can, but it’s obvious what’s happening.”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“What is happening?” Hannibal questioned and Alana seemed surprised that none of them caught her meaning as she looked round the room at 6 blank faces.

“She’s rebranding. Making the school more co-educational, changing House names, hiring new staff on a whim,” Alana said, nodding at Hannibal. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. “She’s trying to sell off Warren Place.”

Everyone exchanged looks, while Hannibal’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t expected that. With hindsight, he tried to recall any of Alana’s so-called “crisis signs” from their chat in Bedelia’s office just the other day, but couldn’t put his finger on anything suspicious.

“Well, that was obvious,” Jimmy said offhandedly, causing Brian and Beverly to snicker.

“Don’t worry,” Alana added, trying to sound assuring, “it won’t affect us… probably.”

Only then did Hannibal pick up on something else she’d said.

“Which House names were changed?” he inquired, looking round at their various House colours, looking for a different one.

“Elderflower,” Will answered, stepping forward and holding up the cuff of his blazer, still with its creamy white borders. “Now it’s Thorn Apple House. I suppose it just rolls off the tongue much better.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow, remembering something from many years ago and Will chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

The rest of the room, including Alana, was now looking at them perplexedly, trying to understand what was so amusing as they grinned at each other from opposite sides of the room. It was one of those moments that reminded Hannibal that he and Will were still connected. Even in this room full of his other friends, they maintained a special link, from secret glances to shared jokes. Nobody else would understand.

Will broke his gaze and looked back at Alana, “Sorry, long story,” he mumbled and she gave him a tight-lipped nod.

“So is Hannibal going to teach us how to summon demons?” Georgia interjected, looking at him anxiously as if he intimidated her, like a bear sitting in the middle of the room without showing any signs of attacking but clearly capable of killing them all on a whim.

“I’m sure Hannibal has enough to deal with without—” Alana started before Hannibal interrupted her.

“I don’t mind,” he offered, again not entirely clear on how much of his sentiment was the desire to contradict Alana, but he’d said it now.

“Are you sure?” she asked, evidently shocked. “Honestly, you don’t have to be any more involved than you need to be. I’ve organised everything, I’ve done all the reading. I know what I’m doing.”

Hannibal looked at her then and knew that he’d nailed her very aptly when he proclaimed that she would be great one day. She’d have to fight for it but it was certainly within her reach.

“I want to,” he assured her. “It might remind me of the old days.” With his eyes landing on Will, he flashed him a sly wink. Again, Alana offered up one of her tight-lipped nods, but he couldn’t quite read her eyes. They were as full and soulful as ever, yet there was a certain sadness to them.

“I suppose that’s sorted then,” she said, trying to comprehend this new information. “I think that’s all we needed to cover for today, so we’ll meet up again on the 19th, okay? Just remember to read the pages I told you to. Ask me or Will if you have any questions about them, or even Hannibal, I guess.”

“Actually,” Brian spoke unexpectedly, “I have a question. No offense to Will here, but when we do the actual ritual thingy with all the chanting and the hand-holding, who’s going to be the poor sod who has to hold his other hand?” Immediately, Hannibal saw Beverly’s fist fly out and punch him in the arm, causing him to swear and pull back, clutching his bicep in pain. Hannibal appreciated it.

“Sorry about him, Will,” she sighed and Will shook his head as if it was nothing, but he still avoided eye contact. Hannibal wondered if perhaps it had made him think back to the other morning, when he had placed his bare hand on Hannibal’s arm. The past few nights, Hannibal had thought about that particular moment quite a lot. Sometimes, he still felt the imprint burning on his skin…

“It’s fine. Hannibal and I have already touched, so it makes the most sense if it’s him,” Will answered, looking to him then as if requesting permission and Hannibal bowed his head in compliance. It wasn’t ideal, but he was right. They’d done it before. Supposedly, Will had already experienced his death and hopefully recovered from the initial shock (though Hannibal was sure that it was just as painful each time).

Regretfully, Hannibal had promised to never ask what Will had seen, but what worried him the most was that Will hadn’t yet sought to comfort him by saying that he hadn’t seen him die by the hand of the Devil in the midst of a summoning. Hannibal was at his mercy in that respect — he had to trust that Will knew more than he did and therefore this ridiculous plan of his did in fact have some sensible basis.

“Satisfied?” Beverly chided Brian. After a couple of beats, he shrugged and nodded simultaneously, making a face like he was uncomfortable with being put on the spot.

At that, they all started picking up their things and chattering amongst themselves as they exited the room, while Hannibal remained behind his desk and watched. What caught his attention was Will grasping Alana’s hand in his and whispering something to her. Just before they left, Hannibal looked on with mild bewilderment as Will leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek. As he pulled away, Hannibal noticed Will wince slightly, then glance directly at him from the corner of his eye, before the door closed and he was gone.

Leaning back in his chair, now in perfect silence, Hannibal marvelled at the idea of being in a relationship with someone who you would have to watch die every single time you kissed them. Perhaps it was that particular contemplation that made Hannibal realise just how much Will loved Alana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alana seems very severe right now, but ehh there's a reason for it. Sorry, this is just a lot of exposition right now. It kind of dawned on me while writing this chapter just how much I need to cover before the story reaches its climax. In fact, I may have to add a couple of extra chapters... As of now, there are actually only 3 more flashback chapters before it's back to 1964 for good.
> 
> Also, apologies for doing this late, but I've added the under age warning because Will is 17. Although my thinking was that it is over the age of consent, back in 1964, homosexuality was illegal anyway and after that the age of consent was 21, so it's not a very good basis to work on. Rather than slipping in a birthday randomly before any hanky panky, I thought I'd just provide a proper warning ;)


	11. 4th of November, 1957

It was a cold autumn morning. The air was crisp and the sky was an eerily pale azure as Hannibal and Will made their way across the lacrosse courts towards the willow trees by the lake. Hannibal often went along in the mornings to locate interesting flora either for summonings or other dark rituals. He was regularly surprised by the range of flowers and plants he had manged to find on the Warren Place grounds alone, but the best area to find them was the forest just beyond the lake. It was a small woodland grove where strange and interesting plants grew underfoot all year round, dominating the entire ground and leaving it a tangled jungle of thicket and thistle.

With a book of plant and herb biology tucked under one arm and his old satchel slung around his shoulder, Hannibal would don a pair of thick leather gloves and descend upon the natural treasure trove, hunting for something with which to explore new magic.  Today, for the first time, he went with a friend.

“What you have to understand about dark magic,” Hannibal explained to Will as they trudged along the muddy banks to the copse at the far side of the grounds, “is that it’s all connected to nature, the elements, the sun and the moon and the stars. Much of the lore is derived from early pagan rituals and beliefs. Demons are nature’s creations just as much as humans are. Knowledge of the natural world and its cycles: the moon and the tide, the seasons, the rotation of the Earth around the Sun — it’s all crucial to understanding how the magic works.”

Will nodded appreciatively, absorbing every word like a sponge. Hannibal had been acting as his mentor for a month now and he was pleased to find that Will was a very attentive student. He was aware by that point that Will’s tough armour had been penetrated and now the boy was totally receptive and trusting of him. Hannibal was also glad to find that the relationship had not quickly burned out, as he feared it might. They seemed to spend every waking second together and he hadn’t felt so affectionate about anyone since… her.

The revelation about Will’s curse had affected the quality of their friendship very little, though it had certainly taken a toll on Hannibal mentally. He would leave their meetings in the bathroom or library earlier than usual to return to his room and keep a torch on under his duvet as he scanned his books fervently for some sort of solution. He’d told Will that he was going to free him and that was exactly what he intended to do. And it seemed, after researching his options for long enough, he had come up with a solution. But it was the one he’d most hoped to avoid.

The two boys reached the forest and immediately bent over to begin foraging. Every so often, Will would ask Hannibal’s help in trying to identify a plant he could not recognise and he would rummage through his encyclopaedia to find out what it was. Though he had not yet told Will why, he’d instructed him to look out for any Hogweed. They were going to need it if all went to plan.

“Huh,” Will mumbled at one point, catching Hannibal’s attention. “This shouldn’t be here, should it?”

His attention piqued, Hannibal strode over with his book to study the weed that Will was curiously holding up to the sunlight which was now streaming through the leaves of the trees like thick, golden honey.

Hannibal frowned and started poring through the book to identify the plant. “You’re right,” he hummed, landing on a page with a detailed drawing of a thorn apple in full bloom. “Datura stramonium, from the nightshade family,” Hannibal read out. He scanned through the information. “It’s native to Mexico and extremely toxic.” Will dropped it suddenly and Hannibal rolled his eyes. “Only if it’s ingested,” he pointed out and Will flushed with embarrassment.

“I knew that,” Will mumbled and picked it back up off the floor. He squinted at it and gave it a short sniff, though the bud had yet to flower. “Is it useful? Any demons partial to nightshade?”

“It’s a powerful hallucinogen,” Hannibal added with a smirk. “Could be useful either way… Bag it up.”

Will did as he was told and wrapped the leaves tightly together in twine before slipping it into his bag. “Should we call it a day?” he asked as he did so, marvelling at the bag full of plants. Typically, Hannibal would take them back to his room to dissect them, press the petals and dry the leaves, before bottling them up and labelling them for future use. He already had an entire cabinet full in his dormitory.

Now, Hannibal saw his opportunity to address the subject that had been weighing on his mind for days and spoke. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Sounds ominous,” Will scoffed, now looking at him with a smile, then seeing the serious look on Hannibal’s face and immediately mirroring it. “What?”

“Your power, your curse… I believe I may have found a way to absolve you of it,” Hannibal said, treading carefully.

“How?” Will asked, tilting his head curiously but his voice was full of doubt.

“Evocation,” Hannibal answered while Will looked at him disbelievingly.

“You have got to be kidding?” Will laughed incredulously but Hannibal kept a straight face. “Isn’t that incredibly dangerous? Do we really want to be involving ourselves with that?”

“I understand your trepidation, but after reading into it, I’m sure that we are more than capable of performing the ritual. I’m not planning on making a habit of it, but don’t you think the risk is worth it? To be rid of this curse that has plagued you all your life?” Hannibal urged him, trying to make the boy see sense and realise that this was his best option.

“That’s just it!” Will exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in frustration “I’ve lived with it all my life. I’m used to it now. I’m resigned to this existence. I don’t need you giving me empty hope or—”

“I promise you, Will,” Hannibal said, taking a risk by coming right up to his friend and placing his hands on his shoulders as he looked right into his eyes. He could see that they were wide with fear. “I would not have brought this up to you if I didn’t firmly believe that we could do it. You and I, together.”

Hannibal believed he could see the exact moment when Will relented, his eyes softening before he bowed his head.

“If we did this…” Will said, his voice shaking, “we would need to touch. For an evocation summoning circle to work, we’d have to be holding hands. I would see you die, Hannibal. I would feel it. I don’t know if I want to do that.” Will looked up at Hannibal warmly as he whispered, “You’re my best friend.”

“I know. And I promise, it would only be once. You would never have to do it ever again. I won’t ever ask about what you saw. I won’t even bring it up,” Hannibal assured him earnestly. “But think about it; it would be the last time ever. You wouldn’t even have to worry about it ever again.”

Will looked down at his feet. He was now genuinely taken in by the idea, Hannibal could tell. Then finally, he mumbled, “Okay.”

Hannibal grinned, fighting the urge to pull the boy in for a hug or ruffle his hair. Instead, he said, “We can pull this off, Will, my little protégé.”

Will flushed at the nickname then asked, “Who will it be?” There was a note of caution, still mild doubt in his mind, but Hannibal ignored it.

“I had a few considerations. Mainly Buer, a healer. But then I thought we could run into some difficulty if this isn’t really a curse. Buer can be quite specific and wouldn’t appreciate time-wasters,” Hannibal clarified. “So eventually, I settled on Shax.”

“Who?” Will had an eyebrow raised, clearly not recognising the name. But then again, he had only summoned a handful of demons at that point. He wasn’t yet fluent in all 72 demons of the _Ars Goetia_.

“One of his powers is to take away understanding.”

“Does that really fit with my ‘power’?” Will asked, emphasising the word ‘power’ with distaste. He didn’t consider it worthy of the word. No, to him it was only a horrible curse to be lifted.

“Your power affords you knowledge that you shouldn’t have just by touching someone. It’s a form or psychic ability — it’s seeing into the future. We only have to ask him to take away that understanding of life and death and the future, return you to the blindness of the rest of humanity,” Hannibal elucidated confidently, full of the belief that his research was fruitful and accurate.

“But… what happens if it goes wrong?" Will muttered hesitantly, his gloved fingers twisting anxiously together. Hannibal was sure that he’d read the horrible accounts of ignorant fools who attempted to mess with black magic and lost control of the demon, setting it free into the world, often killing them in the process.

“He’s a lower rank, so he should be easier to control. Also, his most powerful phase only just ended, so if we summon him towards the end of January, which gives us plenty of time to prepare, then he shouldn’t be near enough to his full strength to harm us, but still powerful enough to do as we command.”

“You really have thought this through,” Will noted and Hannibal smiled assuredly at him.

“We’re going to do it, Will,” Hannibal said, grinning. “We’re going to evoke a demon and we’re going to cure you.”

Unable to resist, Will finally smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the dramatic irony ;)
> 
> It's a short one, I know, and I'm mainly just laying out plot points right now. I got a bit distracted by Dragon Slayer as well as another fairy tale story I'm writing based on Beauty and the Beast where Will is a prince exchanged to Hannibal's creepy wolf tribe to maintain peace :P
> 
> Updates might be a bit slow because I'm going away for 4 days and on top of that I'm suffering some serious writer's block for the first time in a couple months, but I'll be back relatively soon :)


	12. 15th of September, 1964

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: homophobic slur

“Mr Graham, would you please stay behind after class?”

Will looked surprised when he said it, stopping mid-conversation with Alana as they were exiting the classroom and his eyebrows raising questioningly. Hannibal maintained a straight face. He had been struggling to catch Will alone for over a week. Being a teacher was more work than he had anticipated and after the first bout of homework was returned to him, he found himself inconveniently confined to his quarters for most of his spare time outside of classes. The rare moments when he managed to catch a break, Will always seemed to be predisposed. They had only spoken briefly in corners with Alana and maybe one or two of his other friends, always about the summoning. Never alone. However, Hannibal had decided it was time to finally have their talk.

“Hannibal, I can’t stay long. I have another class in half an hour,” Will informed him when the last student had left the room and they were finally alone, checking his watch with a strained look of awkwardness on his face. Something told Hannibal that it was not only factors beyond their control which were keeping them apart.

“Then we’ll try to keep this short. Come into my office.”

“Fine, but I’ll be blaming you if I’m late.” In silence, the two of them both moved through into the adjacent room. “What’s this about?” Will asked, a note of impatience lingering at the end of his words.

“We said that we would talk,” Hannibal reminded him, then at the blank look on Will’s face he clarified, “about us.”

Will nodded slowly and walked further into the room to sit on the edge of Hannibal’s desk. Sitting there with his legs swinging off the side and his brown hair combed carelessly back out of his eyes, Hannibal was strikingly reminded of their age difference, the fact that Will was a teenager living on the brink of death. Guilt started to pool in his stomach once again.

“What is there to say?” Will said in a blasé tone, perhaps trying to downplay the emotional outburst he’d had in the hallway the other day.

“Well, I’d like to know first that you’re feeling okay,” Hannibal began, deciding to ease into the conversation. It felt like pleasant small talk. He could have been any teacher enquiring after his student’s well-being. “Our shared situation must be a great weight on your mind right now.”

“I suppose,” Will said, looking out the window into the greyness of the sky and where it touched the outline of the forest where they used to forage for flora together. Hannibal fondly remembered finding the thorn apple and the moment of recollection they had shared in that exact office over a week ago. Both incidents seemed equally distant to the present. Will continued, “It doesn’t really feel real.”

“Do you blame me?” Hannibal asked quietly. “Do you blame me for suggesting it in the first place?”

Will shook his head before looking right at him and asking, “Do you blame yourself?”

Hannibal also shook his head. “I just don’t want to think that you blame me for all of this.”

“It did bring you back,” Will pointed out with a sad smile. Hannibal wasn’t too sure if he was trying to be honest or sarcastic, so he went for the former.

“You do blame me for leaving, though,” Hannibal noted and this time Will didn’t shake his head. He barely seemed to react at all. “I know you do. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been thinking about it the past few days,” Will said, “and it doesn’t matter anymore. What can either of us say? We can’t change anything.” Hannibal found himself lost for words. He had expected more of a volatile reaction, at least some shouting, a purging of emotional turmoil in one way or another. He hadn’t expected resignation. “What happened to us?” Will sighed after a long silence and Hannibal looked at him in confusion, perplexed by the defeated tone in his voice, as if they were a long-divorced couple trying to reminisce about the good times from decades past.

“I’m trying to solve that,” Hannibal answered, his words trying to provide a beacon of optimism. They still had their moments, didn’t they? Just like the old days: when they looked at each other and saw beyond what anyone else saw, knowing each other and knowing themselves fully. There was still a spark, the memories, the intense familiarity of the other’s presence.

Will shook his head, smiling slightly as he did so. “It can’t be solved, Hannibal. This isn’t an equation with a straight forward method to work out the answer. It’s just…” Will trailed off before shrugging. “It’s just life. Friends drift apart.”

“Don’t you think we can drift back together?” Hannibal offered, attempting to disguise his disappointment in Will’s lack of optimism. Now it was Will’s turn to stare in confusion.

“Is that what you think? That we can just pick back up from where we left off? Like the past 6 years never meant anything?” There was a hurt breaking through his words, like the sharpened point of a knife fighting to perforate the armour he was building and Hannibal wondered whether it had anything to do with that look Will had given him. He’d felt it a few more times since the first. Sometimes, Will might develop a glazed look in one of his lessons, though not one of boredom. He still seemed intently focused on Hannibal, but something else was playing out behind his eyes. Passing each other in the halls, he would see Will look at him and smile, then look away briefly as if embarrassed, sure he’d let something slip — a part of himself he wanted to keep hidden had accidentally risen to the surface. Then he’d look back again, composed, and smile once more.

Throwing caution to the wind, Hannibal decided to try pulling at the thread and allow Will to unravel.

“Will, if this is about more than just me leaving you all those years ago,” Hannibal said softly, moving forward to place a hand that he hoped would come across as reassuring onto Will’s shoulder, “then you know you can confide in me. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Will’s look of bemusement deepened, his brows coming together as he stared at Hannibal’s face and then the hand on his shoulder, looking between the two distrustfully. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at…”

“Will, honestly, there’s no shame in it.”

“Shame?” Will repeated, his voice lowering significantly, though Hannibal continued to press forward with the certainty that Will was only playing coy.

“Though of course, nothing could ever happen. But I’m flattered.”

“Do you…” Will whispered, “do you think I’m attracted to you?” His eyes were narrowed to thin slits as he glared at Hannibal with a face that echoed his look from when Hannibal had facetiously suggested they start an affair. Hannibal smirked, still convinced that Will was playing him, delivering a mock horror to maintain his own pride.

“Will, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Hannibal said with confidence, as if this were all the evidence he needed.

Will’s arms folded over his chest and his face twisted into one of increasing anger. “What way would that be exactly?” he requested in a voice that was quickly becoming a growl, but Hannibal still did not falter.

“Perhaps like a dog looking at his owner, or a school girl with a crush,” Hannibal teased, giving Will’s shoulder a light squeeze, aware that he was coming off as patronising although he was only trying to be playful in an attempt to lighten the mood. It wasn’t working. Immediately, Will jerked away and rolled his eyes up to the heavens and back while chuckling bitterly.

“You really are full of yourself,” he huffed, pushing himself off the desk and side-stepping around Hannibal.

Regretting his approach then, Hannibal withdrew, saying, “I never meant to put you in an awkward position, Will. I don’t mind, I just want us to be upfront with each other.”

“How’s this for upfront: I’m not queer,” Will spat, then was pushing past Hannibal and flying out the door. Surprised, Hannibal stumbled backwards, staring after his friend as the door flew back on its hinges and slammed against a bookcase. One of the books fell to the floor.

“Will, please,” Hannibal called after him as he disappeared out of the classroom. Realising that Will was serious about leaving, Hannibal started to hurry after him. Exiting the classroom and looking up and down the hallway, Hannibal only just managed to catch the sight of his dark blue blazer disappearing round a corner.  Groaning inwardly, Hannibal raced after him, catching up to Will as he marched down the hallway at an aggravated pace. “I apologise for my directness,” Hannibal said breathlessly, now walking alongside him.

“I have to get to class,” Will mumbled, his gaze fixed directly in front of him and refusing Hannibal’s attempts to look him in the eyes.

“I’ll get your professor to excuse you, but we need to talk about this,” Hannibal pleaded, though he tried to keep the desperate edge from his voice. With every step down the hallway, he felt as if Will was running further and further away, even as he remained in line with him. Will was still wriggling free of his grasp.

“There isn’t anything to talk about!” Will hissed. “You’re delusional!”

Huffing a sigh of exasperation, Hannibal decided to take a risk. Reaching out, he grabbed a fistful of Will’s blazer and tugged him into the nearest darkened classroom, shoving the boy roughly inside despite his yelps of protest. Slamming the door shut behind him, he continued to ignore Will’s enraged insults and stood commandingly in front of the exit. Aware that he was repeating the situation that had created a void between them earlier, Hannibal still stood his ground.

“Get out of my way,” Will groaned, his voice now simply tired and frustrated, but Hannibal refused to budge. For a tense few seconds, the two men only stared at each other, some flicker of an electric current moving between them — but not the way it used to. There was no tingling excitement, the fire of friendship burning in every look; now, there was a rage and resentment bubbling away, cracking and sparking more akin to roaring bonfire than the soft glow of a candle wick’s flame. Hannibal felt the jagged edge of something pressing into his side when Will glowered at him in that way. Perhaps it was that persistent agitation that possessed him to do what he did next.

Growing bored of their staring match, Will made the first move and strode forward, ready to push past Hannibal once again, like he had back in his office. However, this time Hannibal was prepared, forcibly grabbing Will by his forearms and easily swinging him round to slam against the door, where he allowed him to wrestle futilely for a few moments before resigning himself with a heavy puff of breath.

Holding Will hostage with his wrists tightly grasped in one hand, Hannibal raised his other hand to the younger boy’s face, holding it less than an inch above his skin. He almost felt the soft static of the fine hairs reacting to the closeness of his skin. In the dimness of the abandoned classroom, the only light came through the window of the door behind Will’s head, casting his face into shadows. Hannibal decided that it was perhaps a good thing that he couldn’t see the boy’s face, the fear in his eyes.

“You and I are going to talk,” Hannibal stated calmly, feeling Will tense up underneath the hand that was clutched around his wrists, “or I’m going to make you see something you really don’t want to.” Hannibal’s hand still hovered, shaking slightly, right above Will’s cheek.

After a few moments of silence, his expression unreadable, Will only said, “Right now, there’s nothing I want more,” then moved his head to the side, letting Hannibal’s hand make contact with the side of his face. Normally, Hannibal may have leapt away, ripped his palm away from Will’s skin with stunning immediacy. But now, all he could hear were Will’s eerie words echoing throughout his head and the coldness with which they were spoken. Once again, he was glad he could not make out the look on Will’s face; he was thankful that he did not have to witness the look in Will’s eyes when he turned his head into Hannibal’s hand with steely determination. He did not want to compare it to the only other time they’d touched, all those years ago, when Will’s face was the epitome of terror and heartbreak only moments before they made skin contact.

So Hannibal was frozen, his hand pressed against Will’s cheek, feeling the smooth skin of his temples with his finger tips and the stubble of his jaw with his palm. There was a slight warmth at the touch. Underneath it all, Hannibal could make out laboured breathing, though whether it was his or Will’s, he could not tell. They were close; closer than Hannibal had initially realised and he could just make out the smell that he’d come to identify as Will’s specific scent. There was a sharp heat with lingering sweetness, like biting into a raw onion. It smelled warm, familiar. He breathed it in with fervour.

A twisting in the pit of his stomach compelled Hannibal to move forward, yearning to press their lips together, taste Will’s tongue with his own. For a second, lost in the darkness, Hannibal truly believed that Will might be the one to initiate a kiss. Even after his callous words, neither of them had moved. Hannibal was losing track of how long they’d been standing there. But then he pulled back. That sweet smell was lost.

One hand still pressed against Will’s cheek, Hannibal released the grip of his other hand and saw Will’s arms fall to his side limply. Will remained in place, but his emotions were still obscured by the lack of light. Underneath his hand, Hannibal felt his facial muscles twitch, as if about to say something, then go still again. Maybe they were both taking advantage of the contact? They could stay connected without consequence. The next time they touched, Will would live through the moment all over again. This was the first time they’d touched in years and, to Hannibal at least, it felt like a revelation.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal whispered, his voice coming out as a croak. Finally, he pulled his hand away. The movement was tentative, as if expecting a resistance, like trying to pull magnets apart. But there was nothing and his hand fell back to his side, heavy with shame. He had weaponised it, used Will’s curse against him. The hand throbbed in a way that made Hannibal want to take a meat cleaver and cut the whole thing clean off.

“When did you become so…” Will started in a small voice, clearly shaken, but the final words escaped him. Instead, they drank in the thick silence for a few short seconds, before Will turned and pulled open the door, slipping out of the classroom and leaving Hannibal in the darkness. The empty room felt like an abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about slow updates. Life is getting in the way. (Plus I'm lazy and fighting writer's block.) But OH the sexual tension!
> 
> The next chapter may take a while because it's a pretty big one. Hannibal and Will summon Shax and something goes wrong...


	13. 21st of January, 1958

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Biting his lip, Will nodded very slowly, insinuating to Hannibal that he wasn’t ready at all. But there wasn’t time to back out now. It was the perfect time of the month when Shax was just powerful enough and they had waited until dark for the night-dwelling demon, ignoring their curfews to do the ritual. It had to be now.

Hannibal sat cross-legged opposite Will. Between them was a five-pointed star, drawn in charcoal on the bathroom tiles. The points of the star were marked by a half-used black candle burning diligently away, a handful of hogweed, a small vessel of water, a single iron nail and the 5 of cups tarot card.

They had practised, built up their knowledge and strength by calling on multiple demons for weeks on end throughout the winter holidays. It had been easy to perform their summonings then since they were practically the only students who remained at the school, being orphans without a second home to return to. Hannibal had his aunt, but he preferred to keep his distance for most of the year. He only wished that he could have had a friend like Will to keep him company his previous 6 lonely Christmases since coming to Warren Place.

Will had been especially studious with his research, Hannibal had noticed. He’d started learning to read tarot cards and bought a pack of his own, as well as using aromatherapy and taking an interest in crystals. Hannibal had a supply of them but wasn’t as fond of them as Will had become, so had given him his collection of quartz, obsidian, bloodstone, moonstone and hematite crystals in a drawstring bag. Now, Will would light incense before every summoning and wave the crystals in the air, muttering charms under his breath. Hannibal knew from the moment he met him, but it became increasingly clear to him now, that Will would surpass his magical skills in every way. He had a passion like Hannibal’s, but there was a certain knack he possessed, as if he was born to be a commander of black magic.

Currently, there was a tincture of holy thistle oil releasing its bitter sweet aroma into the room from where it sat balanced on one of the sinks, as Will had apparently read that it could protect against evil. As extra protection, they had hung crosses over all of the windows and doors, so just in case Shax escaped, he hopefully would not be able to leave the room. In that case, their only option then would be to encase its spirit in another vessel until they could exorcise it back to the underworld, so Hannibal had that particular incantation to hand. He prayed that he wouldn’t need to use it.

“Can we go over this one last time?” Will asked timorously, his bare fingers twisting nervously in his lap. Hannibal took a moment to appreciate how small the boy was. He’d only just turned 12 a couple of weeks ago and Hannibal had slipped him a chocolate bar as he passed him in the hallways. Inside the wrapper was a handwritten message reading “Happy birthday” and underneath it was a new incantation to welcome good spirits into one’s abode before bed. Hannibal had noticed dark circles under Will’s eyes and hoped that it might make him sleep better.

“First we hold hands,” Hannibal said, glancing between them as if this was the most nerve-wracking part of the ritual (and it probably was for Will), “then we say the evocation together. When Shax arrives, I will take the lead and become a vessel of his power, but your job isn’t done then. Though I will be in control, I will need your help to contain the power and he _will_ try to escape through any means he can. Keep hold of my hands, don’t let the power overwhelm you. I’ll fix you, then we’ll say the evocation to send him back.” Hannibal knew these words by heart, having gone over it with Will at least once a day every day throughout January.

“But how will you know how to use the power once you get it?” Will asked, panic evident in his voice.

“Don’t worry about that,” Hannibal told him, though he himself was slightly worried about it. Most accounts he’d found of people who had tried evoking a demon had either ended badly or been suspiciously vague about the transferral of power. Most only noted the demon’s displeasure upon being commanded against their will, but would obey nonetheless. Seeing the trepidation on Will’s face urged Hannibal to say, “It will be fine. We’re prepared for this, I promise.” But it felt like an empty promise. His confidence was draining by the second and being replaced drop by drop with anxiety. But he needed to remain calm. Showing fear or getting flustered during an evocation was a bad move, though a lot of his worries were only a reflection of Will’s. If Will broke, then he would not be able to stop what happened next.

“Let’s just do this,” Will said determinedly and held up his hands for Hannibal to take hold of.

“Are you sure?” Hannibal asked again. He could see that Will’s eyes were filled with dread. Will nodded, but his hands tremored and his face displayed every ounce of fear that he was feeling. Hannibal took one last moment to assure him, “I won’t ever ask you about what you see, I swear.”

“I think I’m more frightened about this part than what comes after,” Will laughed nervously, his hands still outstretched. “I can’t even remember the last time I touched someone.”

“At least it’s me, someone you trust.”

“No,” Will said quietly, shaking his head, “that makes it worse.”

Hannibal understood. Will was the only person in the world he could think of who he could never bare to see die, let alone live through it the way Will was about to experience his. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Hannibal raised his hands to mirror Will’s, both the fear and excitement writhing around in the pit of his stomach.

Given the importance of the moment, it felt almost strange when their hands touched and Hannibal felt nothing. But he looked at Will’s face as their skin met for the first time, his eyes screwed shut as if in anticipation of pain. He had previously told Hannibal how he’d accidentally touched one of his friends at school and physically experienced the heart attack that the young boy would one day die from decades in the future, feeling his chest seize up and his heart stop entirely. He was only 5 at the time. Remembering that, Hannibal wanted to pull his hands away, give up attempting the evocation, but he had to remind himself that this was all to cure Will. So their hands met.

Hannibal watched as their fingers interlocked and Will’s eyelids pressed together even more tightly before flying open suddenly and looking right at him, wide-eyed. He seemed shocked. Not disturbed or upset, but Hannibal could see that he was surprised by whatever it was that he had seen or felt.

_What did you see? You have to tell me!_

Hannibal so desperately wanted to leap across the pentagram and grab Will by the shoulders, shake him and urge him to reveal everything. Who doesn’t want to know how and when they will die? But instead he remained perfectly still, holding Will’s hands and gently pressing his fingertips into the skin, reminding Will that he was in fact still there and very much alive. Whatever he had seen was all over and Hannibal was still there with him. Will understood this comfort and flashed him a quick smile before letting out a long breath, no doubt trying to process the future death of his friend.

They’d fully memorised every line of the Latin evocation, reciting it to themselves every night before they went to bed. During long walks across the grounds at the weekends they would alternate saying the lines to each other until they both knew it even better than the lord’s prayer. Now all their practise was coming to fruition as they spoke every word in perfect synchronisation, their voices merging into a single drone.

They were both surprised but continued speaking when they started to get a reaction from the underworld only half way through the words, sensing the lights dimming around them and a presence start to seep in. Hannibal felt the hair along his arms and at the back of his neck prick up as the temperature dropped and something that didn’t quite belong crept into their world.

As their incantation came to an end, they both paused and shared a quick look. Suddenly a stork, tall and majestic, appeared before them, arising from nothingness to raise its long beak up to the ceiling and release a hoarse cry. Then it tossed its head to stare at them both with black beady eyes like two solid pebbles. The pearly white feathers then began melting away, its plumage scattering to the floor like autumn leaves dropping from a tree, as the bird magically transformed into a handsome man with cat-like eyes, his pupils thin slits slashed through the middle of fiery bronze irises. His hair was electric blue, like the heart of the flame on a gas stove. He looked furious.

“WE COMMAND YOU,” Hannibal bellowed, his voice reverberating off of the bathroom tiles. He felt a pressure on his chest — the desperation to be free — as it rippled off of Shax.

“Command me?” the spirit snorted, staring angrily down at Hannibal. He could feel its presence trying to break free, pushing the circle that held him and demanding to burst out into the world like water building up and mounting pressure on a deteriorated dam. “You’re a child!”

“YOU WILL DO OUR BIDDING,” Hannibal continued, his voice firm and authoritative, reflecting none of the terror that wracked him inside. He chose to look away from Shax’s fearsome face and instead right past him to Will, who was less successfully managing to disguise his horror.

Shax cackled and leaned in close to Hannibal’s face, blocking his view of Will and placing a weightless hand on his cheek. “You think you can handle this kind of power?” he laughed icily.

“Yes,” Hannibal replied bluntly and looked directly into the demon’s eyes. Immediately, he regretted it. His stomach turned as he stared into the fiery depths of his irises and felt the pure strength of him radiating throughout. It felt like a ton of bricks hitting him square in the chest.

Shax laughed once more, a bone-chilling laugh that felt like it could drain all the joy from life, before seemingly dissipating into thin air. But then Hannibal’s eyes slipped shut and he felt it moving through him, like his aura was exploding with power and trying to seep out of his flesh. He immediately cried out in excruciating pain, feeling the way the demon clawed at him from the inside. His entire body felt as if it was burning from the inside out, but the _power_. It was both horrible and wonderful.

“Don’t let it overwhelm you,” Will hissed from in front of him and Hannibal felt Will’s hands tighten around his, urging him to focus, but he was struggling. He felt like a pan of water boiling over, spilling onto the stove with a hot hiss and incapable of keeping the effervescing liquid inside.

Finally, Hannibal managed to peel back his eyelids, expecting the world to be distorted into some hellish landscape, like the one that he felt raging war inside his own body. But he only saw Will’s face, staring back at him, terrified. Somehow he knew that if he wanted to he could break Will’s entire body with a mere thought, could rip right through his head simply by willing it to happen. Hannibal gulped. Thankfully, he also knew that he could take away Will’s curse, drain it from him, like poking a hole in his mind and letting the toxic liquid flow out before sewing it back up.

“I have it under control, Will,” Hannibal said, hearing his voice erupt out of his mouth in a deep, barely comprehensible rumble.

“You’re quite fond of the boy, aren’t you?” Hannibal heard the words hissed inside his head, licking at his skull. “And he’s quite fond of you. I bet he would do anything to protect you…”

No, Hannibal thought, sensing Shax moving within him, somehow knowing what he planned on doing.

“Hannibal?” Will whispered harshly, tugging at one of his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I think I rather like this body,” Hannibal said, his lips and tongue moving although he had absolutely no desire to say the words. His eyes widened in alarm. It was a trick.

“What do you mean?” Will asked, not yet catching onto who was really speaking.

“Maybe I’ll stay here, escape the underworld for good,” Shax said darkly, speaking through Hannibal’s lips. But Hannibal had not lost control. The demon could not possess him unless he lost a grip on himself and gave in. He hadn’t. But Will didn’t know that as Shax managed to take control of his mouth.

“No!” Will cried out, suddenly panicked as he bought into the lies.

 _“He’s tricking you!”_ Hannibal desperately tried to shout, but it was as if his brain was disconnected from his tongue.

“You don’t know what it’s like down there. War and torture and the never-ending darkness. This world is so bright…”

“Hannibal, you have to fight it!” Will screamed as Hannibal tried to scream back that this was all a hoax, tightening his hands around Will’s in an attempt to reassure him but it only frightened the boy more and he dug his nails into Hannibal’s knuckles.

“You really have no idea, do you?” Shax spoke directly to Hannibal, the words only sounding inside his own head. “You don’t know why he can do what he does… Even he doesn’t know. Neither of you do.” Shax then laughed again, like nails down a chalkboard or rubbing a balloon, the sound was physically painful to Hannibal and he winced. “You’re in for a shock,” the demon’s voice susurrated against the inside of his head, as if it lived on his brain like a cancerous tumour.

“Hannibal? Hannibal can you hear me?” Will pleaded again.

Hannibal managed to nod.

“Yes, I think I like this body,” Hannibal heard the voice say using his mouth, now sounding much more like his own than the demon’s.

However, Hannibal still had control of the power racing through his limbs and he only needed to draw the thing he could sense inside of Will out. If he could just do that, then they could banish Shax again. Focusing intently on Will’s face, Hannibal started making an effort to tame the forces inside of him and make them do his final bidding.

“No,” Will whimpered, “no, I won’t let you.”

Hannibal felt a tugging at his hand and it took him a second to realise what was happening.

He wanted to scream at Will to stop, command him to stop, but could do nothing except cling on to Will’s hands for dear life. The circle could not be broken.

“Stop it! I won’t let you!” Will shouted, loosening his fingers and trying to yank his hands away.

 _You can’t, Will, you can’t!_ But Hannibal’s attempts to talk were drowned out by the beast moving inside him, pulsating strongly and suffocating his own words.

“You’ll still have me, Will,” the demon said from within him, now talking in Hannibal’s voice, pretending to be him, though Hannibal knew that Will wouldn’t be fooled. “Shax will just be living deep down inside and I’ll be immortal and powerful. Powerful like _you_ , Will.”

“NO!” Will exclaimed one final time and tore his hand free, the flesh on the backs of his hands ripping away underneath the clutch of Hannibal’s fingernails. Then Hannibal felt it all drain from him at once, like a balloon that had been popped and the air rushing out in one single breath, leaving him flat and deflated.

Hannibal collapsed.

Shax escaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew I hope that all made sense. I sort of just bashed it all out in one long sitting. Action heavy scenes definitely aren't my favourite because I usually just write a bunch of dialogue and fill in the gaps, but you can't really do that here. Anyway! I'll try to stop being self-deprecating and just leave this here because OMG we're halfway!


	14. 27th of September, 1964

It had been over a week. Each day was bookended by Hannibal lying in bed and feeling disgusted with himself, yet when he thought back on it, would he really have done anything differently? There had been an element of brinkmanship when he’d pushed Will into the empty classroom, but at some point they had both plummeted off the edge without realising it.

Will was still avoiding him like the plague. He wouldn’t even look at him, as if the very sight would trigger him to do something drastic. In lessons, Will was quiet and didn’t answer questions, stared at the board instead of him and always managed to be the first person to escape from the classroom when the bell rang. He had stayed silent during the group meeting on Saturday and not allowed Hannibal even a moment of eye contact. Hannibal felt like a ghost around him. But they still needed to talk and he only had one option left.

“Miss Bloom,” Hannibal called out across the bustling corridor, catching the attention of the girl who then whipped round to search for him in the crowd. Eventually her eyes landed on him and he noticed a certain tiredness in her face as she made her way through the throngs of people to meet him.

Hannibal still admired her and had very much since she shone in his first lesson. But nevertheless, he felt a strain between the two of them. He made her uncomfortable although he didn’t know why. He supposed that Will may have divulged some anecdotal evidence of his unsuitability as a friend. She may have simply been acting protective and, Hannibal forced himself to note, was perfectly welcome to as Will’s girlfriend. But then Hannibal felt he had every right to be protective as Will’s friend. So their interactions were all laced with mistrust, heavily disguised by the level of respect in their voices.

“Mr Lecter,” Alana said, coming face to face with him and stroking a wave of brown hair behind her ear, “was there a problem with my homework?” A slightly hopeful look in her eye told Hannibal that she truly hoped that he was only pulling her aside for an error on her latest essay. Alas, it was as flawless as the previous 3 she’d handed in.

“I’m afraid so,” Hannibal lied, though was sure that Alana could see right through him. “We should probably go to my office to talk about this.”

“Of course,” Alana replied, her lips tightening and eyes turning steely before he turned and she followed him back to his office. By that point, they were both painfully aware that this had nothing to do with school work.

As soon as they were inside, Hannibal forfeited all his pretences and said, “We need to talk about Will.”

Alana immediately rolled her eyes and turned back to the door. Hannibal made no attempt to go after her, but waited. Sure enough, she placed her hand on the doorknob and seemed ready to leave, before turning back to look at Hannibal suddenly. “Listen, Hannibal, I know that your friendship with Will is… passionate, but I don’t want to be pulled into that drama. If you two are having problems, please sort them out yourself.”

He had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to resist asserting herself.

“I can assure you, Alana, that I have every intention of cleaning up my own messes,” he informed her, his arms folding over his chest as he met with her hard stare. She looked exhausted, Hannibal realised, and he noticed a certain darkness behind her eyes that he hadn’t seen in anyone other than Will. There was more to their relationship than he may have initially thought, but he wasn’t currently in the position to start digging around. He had his own relationships to work on right now. “I need to know if this is an injury that can be healed with care or time.”

Hannibal saw her hesitating still at the door, her grip seeming to loosen from around the doorknob.

“He didn’t tell me what happened,” she sighed, her dark line of eyelashes fluttering shut. She was strikingly beautiful. Hannibal wondered whether that was the first thing Will had noticed about her.

“I hurt him,” Hannibal openly admitted, doing his best to convey how ashamed and apologetic he was.

“He’s not hurt, he’s angry,” Alana clarified frankly, adding quietly, “You upset him in a way no one else can.”

“And I can fix him in a way nobody else can,” Hannibal said softly and she let out a frustrated sigh before looking right at Hannibal again. There was a slight warning in her eyes. Again, she was brandish that right she had to be the protective, defensive girlfriend. Hannibal had to imagine how differently their conversation may have gone if she had known the context of their argument, all that Hannibal had accused Will of and that final moment in the dark room after they’d touched but before Will had fled.

“His dormitory is on the fourth floor, last door on the right. He always practises his tarot card readings in his room on Sundays.”

Then she was gone.

~

Hannibal raised his fist, ready to knock on the door. He paused at the edge of the moment and a part of him considered leaving. Yet he felt drawn in to the room by something greater than his own will. Rather than knocking, he pulled the door open and strode confidently in, slamming it shut behind him.

Will was sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing away from Hannibal. He didn’t even jump at the sound. Cards were laid out before him on the duvet, half turned over and half lying face down. Incense was burning on the windowsill. It smelled of pine needles and charcoal.

“What are you doing here?” Will demanded, his voice flat, not even turning to look at him.

“How did you know it was me?” Hannibal asked, mildly impressed as he moved into the room. Lingering by the door made him feel as if he was reminding Will of how he had trapped him in that room, standing between him and his only exit. Now Hannibal saw the flaws of his previous approach.

“Must be the way you carry yourself,” Will remarked snidely, still refusing to turn around. “Arrogance has a certain sound to its step.”

“Like what?” Hannibal asked, leaning back against a bookcase and observing Will as he turned over cards and studied them.

“Sounds like a man with a fist shoved up his arse.”

“That’s quite rude,” Hannibal commented, but his tone was not offended. Rather, he was reminded of their first couple of interactions, before they had become proper friends, exchanging sharp-tongued repartee in the library. How quickly Will’s defences had melted away back then. Hannibal was confident that he would be able to do it again.

“So is barging in without knocking. I suppose we could both do with some etiquette lessons,” he returned dryly.

Will turned over the last card. Hannibal managed to look over his shoulder and see that it was the judgement card, depicting a winged angel with a trumpet playing to a field of naked men, women and children as they rose from their graves. Will tutted, then started gathering all of the cards back together and placing the pack on the nightstand, next to the copy of Le Grand Grimoire which Hannibal recognised as his own.

“I apologise for entering unannounced. I was sure that if I knocked, I would not be welcome. I would not blame you, but we haven’t finished talking.” Hannibal remained calm as he spoke, still testing the waters, but their was something sharp-toothed swimming in their depths and at some point he was going to have to wrestle with it.

Finally, Will stood and turned to look at him. “Yes, we have. We’re going to prepare for this ritual, we’re going to cure ourselves, then we’re never going to see each other again.” Then Will’s voice took on a melancholy note as he said, “We’re not friends anymore. We’re different people. It’s better if we can just accept that.”

“I won’t accept it.”

“Try,” Will snapped back at him with blunt force to the word as if it was a punch. Hannibal took the hit and gathered himself before deciding to wade even deeper into the black waters. He had little to lose at this point.

“Is this still about your feelings towards me? Because you cannot simply avoid them. They need to be addressed.” Hannibal remembered his hand against Will’s cheek, the smell of him, his lips. He swallowed hard.

“Really? Again with _that_?” Will asked, gesturing roughly with his hands at himself and Hannibal. He could yet again see the disgust painted all over Will’s face. Perhaps the thought really did sicken him.

“Can you blame me for thinking it?”

“I can when you won’t listen to what I am saying: I do not love you. Right now, I barely even like you, Hannibal,” Will spat with genuine loathing behind the words. Still, Hannibal would not be dissuaded.

“But the way you look at me—” Hannibal started, cut off by a loud and disbelieving laugh from Will.

“You’re not psychic and you’re definitely not as good at reading people as you think. Sure, sometimes I look at you in wonder and fucking amazement that you’re really here and back in my life because there were times when I thought I’d never see you again. Is that the look you mean?”

Hannibal was slightly taken aback and for the first time, maybe starting to doubt himself. “Perhaps,” he muttered, his jaw setting and his arms folding over his chest defensively, then he added, “There’s also that,” nodding to the book that lay on Will’s bedside table.

Will’s brow furrowed. “What about it?”

“It’s that grotty old book I gave you when we first met, my old copy of Le Grand Grimoire. It must be in no fit state to read now; it barely was then. Why keep it? And right next to your bed no less?” Hannibal reasoned smugly.

“It was a present. I thought throwing it out would be rude. Not to mention, it has obvious sentimental value. Not just because you gave it to me, but it’s the first hermetic book that I ever personally owned and it has all of your old notes along with my additions. Of course I’m going to keep it!” Will countered and almost succeeding in making Hannibal feel incredibly stupid, until he noticed something else lying on the bedside table. Hannibal couldn’t repress a grin when he saw it, feeling suddenly validated.

“There’s that, too,” Hannibal pointed out, looking directly at it and realising it was exactly what he thought it was, glistening in the light that poured in from the window.

“What?” Will asked, following his gaze.

“This,” Hannibal said, striding past him and picking it up, proudly holding it out in the palm of his hand like he’d just found a piece of treasure. Will looked down at it and Hannibal felt all of his suspicions re-confirmed as he saw the momentary flash of panic pass over Will’s face.

“That’s nothing,” Will said flatly, but Hannibal could see him shifting uncomfortably, as if he wanted to reach out and snatch it back.

“I suppose I could take it back then,” Hannibal shrugged, moving to slide it into his pocket but even faster than he could register, Will’s hand darted out and grabbed his wrist, his gloved hands grasping firmly over his.

“No, give it back,” he said in a near growl, but now Hannibal was amused and borderline victorious.

“Why? I thought you didn’t like me? So why would you want this?” Hannibal asked teasingly, pulling his arm free and then holding it up out of Will’s reach, pinched between his finger and thumb.

“Hannibal,” Will now said solemnly, “please.”

If he had been a wise man, Hannibal would have folded then.

“No, actually,” he smirked, “I think I’m going to keep it.”

Suddenly, Will whipped around, his hands balled into fists and shaking with frustration and anger, facing away from Hannibal. “What do you want from me?”

Hannibal opened his mouth, unsure of his answer. “Admit that you’re in love with me” now sounded horribly petty, not to mention cruel.

“That was all I had, Hannibal,” Will said, his voice trembling slightly. “The _only_ thing I had to remember you by. You think I’m in love with you just because I want to keep a reminder of my best friend? Fine. I guess you don’t understand what it’s like to miss someone, or care for anyone at all.”

“Will,” Hannibal breathed sensitively, gently reaching out to delicately grasp his arm and turn him around. Will obliged, coming to face Hannibal once more. He could see tears welling up in the corners of Will’s eyes but didn’t mention it. Instead, he slipped his hand down to Will’s and pressed the golden artefact back into his hand. “You know I’ll always care for you. We’re kindred spirits, you and me.” He smiled down at the boy and Will smiled back up at him, more forgiving than Hannibal deserved. Once again, Hannibal was struck by that intense twisting in his guts, urging him to just reach out and kiss Will.

But he never could.

After a moment, Hannibal stepped back and he saw Will’s hand close tightly around the gift he’d left him all those years ago, it’s flash of gold disappearing between his fingers.

“I couldn’t ever write to you,” Hannibal admitted after a long sigh. “It would have been too hard. You were my Little Protégé.”

After a couple of moments, Will said, “I still hate that name.”

“Why do you think I use it?” Hannibal returned with a fond smile and soon Will was smiling right back at him. Hannibal realised that Will’s smile was the most modestly beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was like breath in his lungs. He suddenly appreciated how lucky he was to have seen it so many times and determined that he wanted to see it more. “Life is tedious without you, Will.”

“I know.” Will’s face suddenly fell and his eyes clouded over with sadness. “I do love you, Hannibal. Not in _that_ way, but I do love you. Remember that, okay?”

Hannibal tried to study what was going on in the boy’s head, but the thoughts were far beyond his reach. Sometimes, Will was just completely unreadable and now was one of those times, but Hannibal knew it must have something to do with the mark on his chest and possibly what he’d seen all those years ago, then again only a couple of weeks ago, when Will touched him.

Once again, Hannibal had to question just how much Will knew, but was forced to remember that he could never ask. Still, he would always want to know and Will would never want to tell him. Worse than that, Hannibal would always want to touch him. Will would never want to be touched.

For the first time, Hannibal wondered whether he was capable of loving someone selflessly.

“I know, Will,” he said finally. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a need to provide musical inspiration to all of my fics, and although this one isn't specifically influenced by a particular song/album, I've known since I started writing this that Will's song is either No One To Blame or The Pact by Villagers and Hannibal's song is Flower In A Glove by Frog Eyes.
> 
>  
> 
> _"Put your hand on my face, row away from the grief-stricken man,_  
>  _put your trust in my fate, I shall track that abrasive wasteland:_  
>  _We are richer in love, but you know: You just can't have it."_


	15. 23rd of February, 1958

There was a knock on the door. Hannibal looked up from the open suitcase on his bed. It was still empty bar a few balled up pairs of socks and a portable radio. He had never thought about how easy it would be to pack up all of his possessions into a single bag and simply abandon the place where he had grown up. There was no mental struggle about which items to take and which ones to leave, Hannibal was surprised to discover. He knew everything that was important enough to take away with him— well, everything that he could take away at least.

“Hannibal? Hannibal, are you in there?”

Hannibal winced at the sound of Will’s voice coming from the hallway. It was slightly shrill but cracked at the end. The boy was breaking into puberty. He was growing up.

“Hannibal, please!” Will called out, his words muffled only slightly by the door. This was not the first time he had tried this technique of confronting him. There were a few moments of silence and Hannibal felt his chest ache.

So he really had gotten under his skin, burrowed his way into Hannibal’s heart like a parasite that was now feeding off him. He should have been angry at Will. He had never wanted that. A companion, a friend to share his secrets with perhaps, but never someone who he would struggle to leave behind when the circumstances inevitably demanded their separation. Not again…

“Come in,” Hannibal finally answered, his voice barely louder than a whisper as he half-hoped that Will had already given up like he had many times before and simply skulked back to his own room, but then he heard the handle squeaking as Will’s hand tentatively pressed down on it and pushed the door open gently.

Reluctantly, Hannibal realised that it was time to come face-to-face with his problems. Honestly, he had never intended to avoid Will so persistently, but after telling the younger boy to stop talking to him, being in his presence had become difficult. Difficult for them both, no doubt.

Hannibal didn’t attempt to look up at him and instead continued to stare down into the suitcase’s void. The door clicked shut and Hannibal could hear Will breathing from somewhere behind him. He could smell him; he could smell the sadness. Will reeked of it.

“What are you doing here?” Hannibal asked eventually, knowing the question was pointless and stupid.

“Are you serious?” Will asked in return, less enraged by the question than wounded by it. Hannibal knew that he also stuck like a parasite in Will’s heart.

Hannibal whipped round suddenly and immediately regretted it. Will had dark circles around his eyes and was shaking slightly. He was having trouble sleeping again, Hannibal realised with distress.

_I’ve broken him,_ Hannibal thought. _This is all my fault._

“Will,” Hannibal said solemnly, remaining fixed on the spot and keeping his voice as cool as possible, “I told you before, this friendship is not healthy for either one of us.” He had been soft with his words then, explained how he regretted pulling Will into his world, to which Will had said that he got there all by himself.

Will took a step forward. Hannibal took a step back. Noticing Hannibal withdrawing, Will’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“I’m scared,” Will whispered and his body pulled in on itself, making himself smaller.

There it was again: that aching in his chest.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” Hannibal replied coolly, his arms coming up over his chest now, protecting himself or protecting Will. He wasn’t sure which. He needed to remain closed off if they were going to have any kind of conversation that didn’t end in tears.

Looking down at his feet, Will mumbled, “I was hoping that we could maybe do a protection spell…” He then looked up hopefully while Hannibal stood speechless before him. Had he not made himself perfectly clear where he stood on performing dark magic the last time they’d spoken?

“Shax is trapped inside the mirror and I have the key to the bathroom,” Hannibal said calmly while Will’s eyes implored him from across the room. “You’re safe. We both are.”

Shaking his head, Will began pacing the small expanse of the room. “No, I don’t feel safe. Can’t you feel it, too?” Will looked right at him and in a hushed voice, he spoke, “We’re marked.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Just one spell? I can’t do it alone, Hannibal,” Will begged him, coming closer as Hannibal continued to back away.

“Haven’t you learned anything from this ordeal?” Hannibal hissed at him and Will recoiled slightly at the harshness of his voice. Maybe that was just what he needed: to be reminded that Hannibal was never a nice person. “It’s not worth it, Will. Keep your head down, do your schoolwork. Forget about me.”

Will went quiet and looked past him. With dread, Hannibal understood that Will was eyeing the open suitcase on his bed.

“Where are you going?” Will asked cautiously, the words catching only momentarily in his throat.

Hannibal swallowed, knowing all along that he was going to have to tell Will. He had never expected that he would be able to slip away in the night without Will noticing, even if he had been managing to avoid the boy fairly successfully for the past month. It had been easier than he first thought that it might be. He only needed to stay in his room and keep his head down in the hallways. He had even started skipping dinner, worried that Will might try to approach Acorn House’s table and confront him. He’d never liked the food there anyway.

“I’m leaving,” he confessed, knowing that directness would be the best approach. To his surprise, Will’s eyes brightened slightly at the words.

“Then we can leave together!” he whispered conspiratorially, suddenly enthused. “I’ll pack a bag and we’ll run away. It’s not like anyone is going to miss me.”

Hannibal almost smiled at the spark of childish innocence that he so rarely managed to find in Will. There was a boy whose life was so steeped in darkness yet could still get excited at the almost romantic notion of running away with his best friend. But rather than smile, Hannibal only shook his head, slow and sombre. “I asked Mr Vanderbilt if I could transfer. I have my aunt’s permission and I have a place at Westminster Boarding School to complete my A levels.”

Will was quiet for a few moments, then, “You’re leaving me?”

“I’m not leaving you, Will,” Hannibal sighed, knowing that the boy wouldn’t appreciate the difference anyway, “I’m just leaving.”

Perhaps just for something to do with his hands, he started going into his draws and pulling out the clothes, already neatly folded, and placing them in the open suitcase. Will stood to the side and watched in silence as he went back and forth, eerily aware of the eyes on him.

“Is this because of what I saw?” Will asked suddenly.

Hannibal paused.

Was it?

“Don’t be ridiculous, Will,” he scoffed, though still uncertain himself, continuing to pack away his clothes.

“Am I being ridiculous?” Will demanded, walking up to him now and grabbing a hold of his arm, forcibly pulling Hannibal around to look him in the eyes. “I make you uncomfortable.” That fire was still there, Hannibal was glad to see.

“Of course not,” he said, now more confident in his answer, but Will was less convinced.

“Then look at me,” he commanded firmly. Hannibal realised he was still avoiding looking at him, but that had very little to do with whatever Will had seen. Now he looked him dead in the eyes.

“I’m not leaving because of you. But I do need to escape this place. I’ve been here a long time now and at first it was useful for me to be here. Not anymore.”

“You’re my only friend,” Will stated despondently, then added, “Please don’t go.” But now he sounded more resigned to the fact that Hannibal was beyond convincing, even as his words became more tearful.

“You’ll be fine, Will. You were fine before me and you’ll be fine afterwards,” Hannibal sighed, though knowing that life wouldn’t be the same for either of them after experiencing life with the other. That was why Hannibal had been trying to avoid him, to ease them both into the separation process. Then he had an idea. He looked down at the golden acorn pin attached to his blazer and remembered something Will had told him a long time ago. “Did you know,” Hannibal asked him as he removed the pin from his lapel, “that during the early witch trials, witches would pass acorns between each other as a symbol of Wiccan solidarity?”

Hannibal held it out towards Will, who opened his gloved hand before him to receive the gift, letting the sparkle of bronze sit in his palm for a few moments, gazing at it sadly before his fist closed around it and he pulled it tightly back to his chest. Looking back at Hannibal, there were tears shining at the corners of his eyes.

“Goodbye, Will.”

Will nodded, his lips pressing together as he attempted to keep the tears from falling, but when he blinked a single tear rolled from each eye down his cheeks. Hannibal had never wanted to be the person to make Will cry, not when he found he was the only person capable of making Will laugh. He didn’t want to remember Will’s face like that. He wanted to remember Will’s disbelieving laughter after he’d completed his first summoning, or him quietly singing Love Letters In The Sand and getting embarrassed when Hannibal noticed.

“Goodbye, Hannibal.”

Will turned and left, his fist still clutched to his heart.

Restraining himself, Hannibal watched him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the final flashback :( Sorry to end it like that but we all knew it was coming.
> 
> If this was a book, I would mark this the end of Part 1: The Acorn and Oak Tree, then start the next chapter with Part 2: The Thorn Apple and The Elder. But it isn't, so I'll just tell you guys that here ;) This is pretty much the halfway point of our story though.
> 
> Thank you for making it thus far :D


	16. 5th of October, 1964

“Room for one more?” Will asked, already squeezing into the space next to Hannibal on the bench in the middle of the dining hall. The lights were dim and the hall was virtually empty, save for a few lost souls and one that had been suddenly found.

Hannibal had been indulging himself in a late dinner after spending the entire evening doing marking and missing the bell that typically range for dinner at 7pm. Now he had been brought a belated oxtail soup with crusty bread and was enjoying it with a copy of The Divine Comedy that he had checked out of the library spread open on the table before him. He had been amused to see that the same librarian sat behind the desk and flashed him a false smile when he entered, probably at first believing that she was having a nightmare. The idea of it amused him greatly.

“There’s always room at my table for you, Will,” Hannibal answered, closing his book and smiling at him. He was glad that their friendship was seemingly repaired after that day in Will’s room, when they had finally aired out all of their interpersonal drama. Now it was like being 18 again and they had been inseparable for the last couple of weeks.

“Alana’s not very pleased with you,” Will warned him, nicking one of Hannibal’s bread rolls and tearing off a chunk to dip it generously in the broth, not bothering to ask for his permission. He knew that Hannibal would always excuse that sort of rudeness when it came to him.

“Is this because of my absence last Saturday?” Hannibal asked, allowing Will to eat his food for him.

Will mumbled a quick, “Thank you,” before pulling the bowl towards him while nodding gravely.

“I was busy,” Hannibal lied and earned a doubtful look from Will.

“Are you sure? Or did you just not want to spend your weekend baby-sitting teenagers?” Will chuckled. Hannibal failed to repress a minor smile, feeling too obvious whenever it came to Will.

“Alana’s very capable, as are you. I’m sure it all went fine,” Hannibal said, shrugging as Will slurped delicately from his spoon.

“True as that may be, you still need to get in some practice yourself. We both need to be at the top of our game.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Hannibal reminded him, though still managed to evade the accusation that there were a multitude of reasons for him avoiding the meeting. “I do take this very seriously.”

“Maybe you need to show Alana that,” Will hummed and there was a note of judgement behind his eyes. _Why aren’t you trying harder?_ , it asked of him. Hannibal huffed because he knew that he had no obligation to answer that question, yet did feel strangely inclined to.

“She’s your girlfriend, not mine,” Hannibal scoffed, watching Will eat with fascination. He would have to cook for him one day. He had missed not being back in his kitchen the past month. As soon as he was free of the curse, he knew he would return home and throw a dinner party. Will would be invited, of course. After their last parting, Hannibal knew that there was no way he’d be letting Will leave his life ever again. He grew more determined about that fact by the day.

“Don’t be like that,” Will tutted, frowning at him. “She’s doing this for you, remember.”

Hannibal neglected to add that he had never asked her to do anything. He would have had no problem with him and Will researching all of this together, especially since it concerned them primarily. Now he found himself wanting to spend time with Will like they had in the old days, poring over their books and searching for their ingredients and being so utterly alone. So, so alone together.

“I’d like to do some of my own reading on our... predicament,” Hannibal announced.

Will paused, looking thoughtful, then shook his head. “No need,” he said, “Alana and I are handling it all.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust the two of you,” Hannibal explained, feeling defensive although he had no reason to be, “but I would feel more comfortable knowing all the information I can find.”

“For what it’s worth, there really isn’t that much information out there on it. Only what I already showed you,” Will told him frankly, draining the last of the soup from the bowl and then reaching into Hannibal’s lap to steal his napkin and wipe his upper lip.

“I’ll start with that, then. Could I borrow the book you showed me when I first arrived?”

Will seemed to consider the request for a second and Hannibal wondered what the delay in his answer was caused by, or why there needed to be a delay at all.

“Alana has it,” Will informed him in a measured voice, “but I could ask her for you.”

“No need,” Hannibal said with a smile, “I’m perfectly capable of asking her myself.”

Did Will seriously believe that he and Alana were so unfriendly?

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to find out that you don’t already know.”

“Perhaps nothing, but that’s no reason not to try. Could you tell me where to find her room?”

Once again, Will looked as if he was seriously contemplating whether or not to tell Hannibal, which slightly irked the man but he decided to let it go. He knew he was at risk of losing Will once again if they had another argument and he definitely didn’t want that, so he continued to stare patiently at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you there,” Will eventually concluded and stood up. Hannibal followed, though not without his suspicions as they exited the hall and the silence that marked the school late at night.

“Surely you don’t believe that I need to be so carefully observed around Alana?” Hannibal questioned him as Will slowly sauntered down the hallways, as if trying to drag out the journey there for as long as possible.

“She told me that you make her uncomfortable.”

Hannibal stopped in his tracks. “She does?” he asked, trying not to sound as astounded as he truly was as he caught back up with Will, who turned to look at him with a bemused smile.

“Does that really surprise you?”

Thinking back on their various interactions, he knew that he could be fairly cold with her at times, maybe even harsh. But he simultaneously admired her. He just didn’t admire the way she touched Will. He felt a sick blow to the stomach every time he saw them interact. That was the real reason he hadn’t showed up to the planned group meeting on the 2nd, when he was supposed to help Brian and Jimmy get more accustomed to using magic. The feeling seemed to have doubled recently, causing him genuine nausea and he was finding it troublesome to admit why, although he knew deep down.

“I suppose not particularly,” Hannibal shrugged, playing the words off far more casually than he felt. “I’m a very charming man, Will. This is the first time somebody has disagreed.”

“Or maybe just the first time you’ve found out about it,” Will suggested teasingly and Hannibal smiled fondly at him. Too fondly.

All of a sudden, he tore his gaze away. There was nothing he could think of that would be more foolish than falling for Will Graham. Will who was 7 years his junior and one of his pupils, no less. Will who had a girlfriend and was passionate about denying any attraction towards him. Will who lived through his death with every touch. It was an impossible love, yet Hannibal was starting to realise that it had been slowly burgeoning since their first reunion and growing ever since, coming to full bloom only in the past fortnight.

He’d known early on that there was a certain attraction and even a vague flirtation on his behalf, but he was quickly coming to comprehend just how deeply his affinity for Will could run. Love was certainly nothing new to him. He had loved music and food and the feeling of warm blood on his hands in excess over the past few years. Before that, he had loved his sister and he had loved the version of Will he knew as a child in some way, too. But this was something new: more beautiful and moving than any opera he had ever wept at and more exquisite than the finest food and wine he had ever tasted. This was different because it became a love that was not one sided. He could appreciate such fine things while recognising that they did not have the ability to appreciate him back. Now he looked at Will and really looked at him and he saw how Will really looked back at him, as if they were the first men to exist, gazing at another human being for the first time in their long, boring lives: Adam and Eve, born anew.

“I was only joking,” Will chuckled, nudging Hannibal lightly with his elbow. If only to show that he appreciated that fact, Hannibal smiled for the briefest moment at him before returning his gaze to the path before them, where it led down to Marigold House at the other end of the grounds. It was already dark and had been for a few hours, but Hannibal wallowed in the darkness. It was the best disguise there was.

“Would you believe that I’ve never actually been inside this House?” Hannibal pondered thoughtfully as they stepped through the front door. It was less of a grand manor than the other Houses that surrounded the courtyard and more of a large cottage, strangled on one side by ivy and shrouded by the shadows of the surrounding trees.

“Neither had I before Alana and I started dating.”

“You never told me how the two of you met,” Hannibal pointed out, curious but not sure whether he would enjoy Will’s answer. Will smiled to himself as they ascended the stairs, ignoring the number of girls who ogled the males in their presence.

“Now I think about it, it wasn’t too different to how we first met,” Will recalled, sounding slightly distant as he said it, no doubt reliving the moment. Which one, Hannibal wasn’t sure, but he could hope. “We were placed in the same class at the start of Year 12. I thought she was beautiful. We didn’t really talk until we were trying to check out the same book in the library.”

“A regular love story, then,” Hannibal commented, meaning for it to sound cynical, noting the banality of it. Perhaps thankfully, however, his true meaning eluded Will, who only smiled and nodded and he was so in love with her it was nauseating. He would have to be, wouldn’t he? To touch and kiss a girl at the price of her death… It was not something to be taken lightly. Hannibal had to remind himself that Will had only touched him properly twice and neither of those times had been due to pure unadulterated love and affection.

Alana answered her door looking tired and confused, before registering the faces before her. Hannibal smirked at her in amusement when he saw that she wasn’t wearing a shirt, but looked away respectfully nonetheless. The basic humanity of it all was actually endearing to him.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped and her hands flew up over her chest as darted back into her room and hurriedly pulled a jumper on, “I was just taking a nap.”

“No need to apologise,” Hannibal assured her, though still grinning and Will flashed him an annoyed look.

“Hannibal here just wanted to borrow our book,” Will explained, walking into the room. Hannibal followed, closing the door behind him.

“Which one?” Alana asked, gesturing to the massive stack of books on the occult and hermeticism that took up her entire desk. She could have been trying to build a fort out of them.

“You know, the one with all the information about the Black Rose,” Will prompted her.

“Oh,” Alana said quietly, her mouth forming a perfect circle as she glanced worriedly between Will and Hannibal.

“What’s the problem?” Hannibal asked. She shook her head in a tight motion, her hair falling slightly out of place.

“Nothing,” Alana rushed to say, then stared intently at Will, “only I thought you had it.”

Hannibal’s eyes scanned over the pile of books. “You do have it,” he pointed out, recognising the art on the spine immediately as the same from the cover of the book that he had studied in his office with Will over a month ago now.

“Where?” Alana asked quickly, striding over to the pile of books, blocking Hannibal’s view. He walked up behind her and reached around her to pull it out of the pile and sure enough he could see it was that very same large tome with its intricate patterns and roughly cut pages.

“This is the one,” he said, sounding satisfied and Alana nodded her tight nod once again.

“I guess I was wrong,” she laughed, but sounded anxious about something. “So is that all?”  She turned to Will as she said it expectantly, but he shook his head.

“You can stay, Will,” Hannibal told him, despite every fibre of his being screaming at him not to. “I’ll make sure you two won’t get into trouble.”

“Not like that,” Alana laughed uncomfortably and Hannibal only shrugged in return with mild disbelief and made his way towards the door, while Will seemed vaguely conflicted about whether to stay with Alana or follow him. Finally, Will decided to follow Hannibal and caught up with him just down the hall after a brief, muttered farewell to his girlfriend.

“So are you planning on staying up all night reading?” Will asked as Hannibal hoisted the heavy book under his arm.

“Maybe not tonight, but soon.”

“Sorry about that back there, by the way,” Will mumbled as they closed the door to Marigold House behind them and headed along the path back towards the courtyard and their respective rooms.

“About what?” Hannibal questioned, genuinely unsure about what Will was trying to apologise for.

“When we opened the door,” Will elaborated and Hannibal could hear by the wavering cadence to his voice that he was vaguely embarrassed by it.

“Why be sorry?” Hannibal chuckled, watching Will’s face in the dark.

“Well, Alana is a very attractive girl and you’re her teacher and it may have made you...” Will’s voice grew small and trailed off, perhaps wishing that he had never mentioned it at all.

“Uncomfortable?” Hannibal prompted and Will nodded. “Not at all,” he assured him, then belatedly added, “No woman has ever been beautiful enough for me to see her as anything more than beautiful.” Hannibal realised only after he had said it just how much he was confessing to Will. He had supposed that Will may have already guessed his sexual proclivities though, so he continued, partially curious as to what his reaction might be. “I’m far more inclined towards an Apollo figure than an Artemis.”

He waited a second, but Will said nothing, only nodded. They had arrived in the courtyard that separated their houses, due to head their separate ways.

In the disguise of darkness, Will’s face betrayed nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suddenly got really into this fic when I know I need to finish Dragon Slayer. (Seriously, it's only 5 chapters, fucking get on with it!!)


End file.
